


Death-marked Love

by DarkoftheMoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Ancestral magic, Curse Breaking, Cursebreaker Ben, Cursed Rey (she's ambivalent about it), Dueling, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Love Curse, POV Hermione Granger, POV Rey (Star Wars), Prompt from GalacticIdiots on Twitter, Rune translating, Self-indulgent Reylo Dramione Crossover, Space Wizards are now Wizard Wizards, Wizarding World (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26546116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkoftheMoon/pseuds/DarkoftheMoon
Summary: Rey Niima was born cursed. If anyone in the Palpatine line fell in love, they would watch their loved one die in their arms. For Rey, this is merely a minor inconvenience. But for her close friend Hermione Granger, it's a problem that needs solving. A chance encounter with Draco Malfoy leads to a visit from cursebreaker Ben Solo, an American who specializes in legacy curses and ancestral magic. And happens to be a direct descendant of the wizard who cursed Rey's family in the first place.Just as your darkness has marked you in life so too will I mark you in death. Though you will never learn, I have hope for those who come after you. Take the brunt of my curse, Sheev, and may your heirs stand against their fate. Only then will your line know peace.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 144
Kudos: 171
Collections: Galactic Idiots Collection





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _Death-marked Love_ is loosely based on this [prompt](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1281339060200579075?s=20) from [Fran](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots), aka Galactic Idiots on Twitter and [BensCalligraphySet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BensCalligraphySet/pseuds/BensCalligraphySet/works?fandom_id=101375) here on AO3.

Rey flicked her wand in annoyance. The normally elegant lines of her memos turned sharper, harsh and angular like the spaceships in the muggle films Hermione dragged her to. After six years at the ministry her job hadn’t changed much. It still required hours of memos and documents and reading and research. The only difference was, in the last year she had been promoted and was also expected to do field work whilst keeping up with said memos, documents, reading, and researching. As Junior Director of House Elf Relations, she had endless piles of paperwork towering throughout her office. Crowding her desk. On the floor behind her chair. Bursting from faded folders in the six file cabinets that lined the walls. There was just enough flooring visible for her to wedge herself from the door into her chair.

Two sharp knocks on the door signaled her boss and close friend, Hermione Granger. The famous curls appearing in the crack of the doorway before the witch herself.

“Have you seen the latest report from Scotland?” She asked. There was a quill stuck in her hair and a smudge of ink on her chin. There were always ink stains on Hermione’s fingers, leaving brushes of the blue-black ink she preferred all over her clothes, her face. Just about everywhere.

“Which one? Private homes or the Hogwarts quarterly review?”

Hermione twisted her way into the narrow office. “Hogwarts.” Rey shook her head. “It seems as though only half of the elves are even accepting their paychecks. The others have yet to deposit them in the Gringotts accounts we set up for them.”

Rey groaned. It had taken nearly three years to furnish the necessary paperwork to establish the staff of elves at Hogwarts as Gringotts key holders. A year of negotiating with Headmistress McGonagall and the various witches and wizards from the magical department of labor over salaries. And at least three grey hairs on Hermione’s curly-haired head and one on Rey’s, which she promptly yanked from her scalp.

“What do you think we should do?” Rey asked, dipping her quill in purple ink and sliding a fresh sheet of parchment over to take notes.

“Well we can’t exactly force them to deposit the funds,” Hermione mused, running a finger over the nearest visible stack of parchment. Lips silently reading before remembering she had a task at hand. “I think I’ll need to meet with Amilyn and a goblin liaison, too.”

Rey scribbled a memo and sent it off to Amilyn Holdo in the department of labor, requesting a meeting later that day. “Right. Anything else?”

They both huffed a laugh. It was one of their ongoing jokes — there was always something else.

“Bill wrote with a few more ideas—“

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Rey Niima, it _does_ matter—“

“And I’m telling you it isn’t important so can you just let it go? There’s other things to worry about. You have a one o’clock with Kingsley and we both know if you don’t go get something to eat now you won’t until you crawl out of here long after everyone else has left.”

While Rey planned her day around meals and snacks Hermione considered food last, after everything else was finished. It often meant she was irritable until Rey slipped her a chocolate frog or forced her to go to the café in the lobby.

“Just because you’ve given up on breaking the curse doesn’t mean I have. And you know what I’m like when there’s a problem to solve,” Hermione said diplomatically. Rey rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you’re very annoying, thanks,” Rey said, shooing her out of her office.

Rey picked up her quill and returned to her notations.

It wasn’t as if she never thought about the curse upon her, it just wasn’t a factor in her life. Nearly fifty years ago her grandfather, notorious dark wizard Sheev Palpatine, so pissed off a rival that he doomed his lineage to a curse that was…inconvenient at best. Deadly at worst. Whatever he did to Skywalker was enough to make the man cast a powerful, ancestral curse.

According to the extremely cryptic letter her grandfather had hidden in his study, if someone in his line were to fall in love, they would watch the one the loved die in their arms. A curse that couldn’t be lifted blah blah. That was the gist of it.

And for Rey that meant she chose not to date, preferring a one night stand to courtship. Her own parents marriage had been loveless. A political match that benefited no one, in the end. They lived separate lives after she was born, sending the occasional letter but mostly leaving her alone at Palace de Palpatine (as she called it) with her nanny, Maz. Until they, too, had died. Caught in the crossfire of the war. Her mother, thinking it safest in anonymous Muggle London, was killed in an automobile accident. Her father was struck by an errant killing curse during what was undoubtedly a drunken night in Knockturn.

Her parents, in fact, kept the pesky little curse from her until she came of age and graduated from Hogwarts. Which was a little insulting — what if she had met the love of her life when she was but 12 years old? Maz presented her with a sealed letter explaining the curse. With the lukewarm sentiment that, “If I had loved you as you deserved, you would have surely died in my arms.” Bullocks. Her mother had never bothered with her because she hadn’t wanted to _be_ a mother. And her father, well, Maz had a few choice words about what kind of man he was.

The grandfather who caused this inconvenience had died in an explosion long before she was born, on a mission for the Dark Lord. Now he lay forever in an ornate tomb at the estate. Yet another inconvenience, since she so longed to see the disappointment on his no-doubt smug face when he learned that his sole heir was a woman who chose to work in the most unglamorous department at the ministry and refused to use his name.

That was what the curse was, in the end. A curse on the one thing he cared about most — legacy.

The one thing she spent her whole life burying.

* * *

Hermione waited on the gleaming black tiles for the lift to arrive. As usual she was engrossed in her notes despite the small crowd of people queued behind her. It was difficult to lose focus after so many years with a reputation as a workaholic. There had to be something she was missing. Something in the years’ worth of notes she’d made about Rey’s curse.

The lift arrived with a soft chime, the dulcet tones of the operator announcing “Sixth Floor, Magical Creatures Department” before the bronze gate opened, letting off a few witches and wizards who pushed their way into the halls. Hermione hardly looked up as she made her way into the lift, tucked towards the corner, reviewing the last letter she’d received from Bill Weasley about different types of curses that could explain Rey’s plight.

Her friend wasn’t all that interested in removing the curse, which, to Hermione, seemed to be just on the end of stubborn and entirely impractical. Of course Rey would find love one day. Wasn’t that what everyone hoped for? Hermione had thought she’d had it, once, with Ron, but that was a love of familiarity and comfort. The safest option. Not exactly thrilling. Without any of the heat she witnessed with Harry and Ginny. Since then she had casually dated a handful of wizards and muggles alike, but they rarely enjoyed coming second to her work.

She was just turning her parchment over to read Bill’s updates on Fleur’s latest attempts to fund the brewing of wolfsbane for those subjected to werewolf bites during the war when she felt something. It was normal for her to feel eyes on her person, watching her. Though it had been over a decade since the fall of Voldemort she was and would forever be, part of the Golden Trio.

But these weren’t the eyes of an admirer — they brought pinpricks to her skin. Shivers beneath the goosebumps. She was always able to tell when his eyes were on her. Ever since school and the first time she turned to find his grey eyes locked on hers, beneath the warm lamplight of the library.

She risked a glance to her right, confirming it. As the elevator rose he stepped closer to her. The cool, embroidered sleeve of his black robes grazing her arm. She pulled her quill from her hair and stepped away, bumping her shoulder against the wall of the lift. From the corner of her eye she saw him smirk.

Something about his proximity gave her an idea and she didn’t want to forget it, so she scratched furiously at a scrap of parchment with the endless ink quill she’d been developing in her free time. It was such an annoyance trying to write things while she was in motion, constantly needing an ink pot just to jot things down. Muggle ballpoint pens were so much more convenient, but she didn’t like to stand out any more than she did on a daily basis.

She continued to write until she felt his warmth. He craned his neck to read over her shoulder. Exasperated, she let out a huff of air and put down her quill, covering her writing with her hand.

“Something to hide, Granger?”

Hermione looked around the lift, hoping for a space to force herself into. It was crowded, and she was trapped. She sighed.

“If you’re going to look anyway I might as well tell you. I’m working on a rather difficult personal project involving a complicated curse. Bill Weasley has been helping me try to understand the different types of curses it could be—“

A long, pale hand snatched the top few sheets of parchment from her hands before she could so much as protest. “Hmmm…Interesting problem.”

She scoffed. “It’s not _interesting —_ it’s my friend and it’s serious. She’s not exactly rushing to figure it out so I’m trying to expedite things for her.”

“If only you were able to put that Gryffindor pride aside. I might be able to help,” he raised a brow, leaning casually over her, “but you’d have to ask me very nicely.”

A few passengers alighted on the second floor, but she was still pressed closely to the edge, unable to step to the open space.

“That’s highly doubtful, Malfoy. The entire cursebreaker team hasn’t cracked it and last I checked you specialized in cursed objects not ancestral magic.” She clamped her mouth shut. It wasn’t entirely a secret what he did for the Curse Department but it meant that she’d paid attention to him. And she didn’t like to admit that she paid attention to him.

“But I happen to know someone who happens to specialize in legacy curses. Owes me a favor, too. All it would take is a quick note…but you’re far too rude to me—“

“ _I’m_ rude to _you_?” She laughed, pushing her way to the doors as they chimed for the first floor. It was well into the day, and the light through the atrium was muted by the overcast clouds, typical of March in London. Draco kept pace with her, moving elegantly through the crowds of witches and wizards waiting to floo out for lunch.

“Yes, you are. And I won’t owl him until you show some manners,” he tutted, placing her notes back in her arms. Without a look back to her he strode through the lobby to the café, speaking amiably with Theodore Nott while they waited.

Hermione had intended to grab a sandwich here but rather than risk another few minutes of chastising from him she entered the nearest line for a fireplace, silently cursing herself for not taking her cloak with her. At least she could floo home and eat some leftover curry in peace.

A few hours later, when most had gone home for the evening, she found herself on the eighth floor, winding through its dark halls, stopping in front of a polished black door with _D.M._ written in ostentatious silver script at the center. She knocked, three sharp sounds, and the door swung open.

He barely glanced up from his parchment. “Granger, I’m busy at the moment.” The quill in his hand was large, probably an eagle’s feather that cost more than a few galleons. His office was a bit larger than hers and impeccable — a dark bookshelf behind him organized alphabetically. A curio cabinet to one corner, no doubt home to some of the cursed objects he’d recovered. His desk was neat as well. Just a small stack of parchment, ink pot, and a framed photo she couldn’t see.

Hermione took a measured breath and held her hands clasped in front of her. “Please write your friend about Rey’s curse.”

Finally, he looked up. “There it is! How hard was that? You’re still standing not a hair out of place or I suppose none in place, as usual—“

“If I hold back an equally uncalled for insult will you write this person today?” She placed her hands on her hips, her preferred power pose for getting things done. Or getting others to do what she’s asked.

Malfoy sighed. “Lucky for you, Granger, I already wrote him. You seemed desperate and he happens to be on the continent.” He leaned back in his chair, assessing her.

“You did? Thank you,” she stammered, wringing her hands together.

“How will you repay me?”

She glanced up, the grey of his eyes dark, like the storm clouds barely visible from his small window. They stared at each other, him amused and her confused — _what game was he playing?_ she thought.

After a minute she realized he expected a response. “What?”

“I like chocolate frogs as much as the next wizard but Cattermole on the 3rd floor once gave me some muggle caramels that had flakes of salt on top,” his lips quirked, nearing a smile. “I was quite fond of them.”

“I’m not buying you _chocolates_ , Malfoy.” She crossed her arms and looked over her shoulder. When she entered the room she left the door open, not wanting to be in close quarters with him again, but he must have waved it shut with a silent spell.

“Too intimate for you, I see. A drink then?” He pushed his chair back, the wood scraping over the slate floor, the sound running down her spine.

They’d orbited each other for nearly a decade, running into each other at various Ministry events and in hallways and elevators. Half the time they were at least cordial and the other half…

“You’re not—Are you... flirting with me?”

He chuckled and straightened his robes. “Just seeing how wound up you’ll get before fluttering out of my office and muttering to yourself the whole way.”

Hermione stepped back. “I don’t mutter to myself,” she whispered under her breath. “This is ridiculous—“

He’d crossed over towards her, leaning against the desk. The velvet hem of his robes just brushing the top of her sensible shoes.

“What was that?” He said, a slight sneer on his lips. “You were muttering. Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“You—“ she breathed out an exasperated sigh, forcing civility with a lift of her chin. “Tell me when he responds, please. And…thank you.” She turned in a huff, reaching for the door and air that wasn’t so tight. A chance to ease the tension that forever settled between her shoulders whenever she was near him. Near the smell of smoke and ink and pine that seemed to follow him.

“Oh, and Granger?”

 _Drat._ With a quick inhale she turned and met his eyes, sharp like ice. When she raised a brow, they flashed, a hint of blue amid the cold grey.

“Don’t forget those muggle sweets when you drop by tomorrow,” he said. And she almost thought there was a smile in the corner of his lips as he shut the door in her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this fic comes from Shakespeare, in the prologue to _Romeo and Juliet_. (I promise there's a much happier ending to this story!)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So you’re the girl with the unbreakable curse,” he said, roving his eyes over her with distaste.
> 
> Rey dismissed him with the wave of a hand. “Aye, that’s me. Steeped in tragedy.”

Hermione’s meddling had gone too far, Rey thought. Though she meant well, she was more of an idealist than her practical reputation let on. And now Rey sat beside her in a tiny café in muggle London, waiting for another waste-of-time cursebreaker to show up. An American, at that. While Rey was slightly irritated but otherwise content to sip her cappuccino and shred the layers of a croissant with her fingers, Hermione was clearly nervous.

Rey watched her reach for her cup, hesitate, twirl one of her curls away from her face, tug her dress down, and scoot her chair in. All within about fifteen seconds.

“You’d think that you’re the one with an ancestral curse placed upon your house about to meet your last hope,” Rey said over her mug.

Hermione jumped a little, and took a sputtering gulp of coffee before replying. “I’m just worried for you, is all.”

“I think you’re probably also worried about a certain—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she countered. “This is strictly professional.”

“Is that why you’re wearing a new dress? It’s a lovely color, by the way. Not often that you wear that particular shade of green.”

“It was on sale! And the shopkeeper said jewel tones work well on me.”

Rey glanced around and sighed. The brief peace from sitting in the charming coffee shop would soon be replaced by suggestions she’d heard ten times already. A flat, American accent saying, “I’m sorry, but this curse is unbreakable. Perhaps you can just never fall in love? Save yourself the trouble,sweetheart, hyuck hyuck ha ha.” Old tosser, probably. She wouldn’t hear the tinkling of spoons or the soft muggle music from the speakers once the others arrived. It was as soothing as a summer rainstorm late at night. Only it was barely eight o’clock in the morning.

As she was getting ready to leave, Maz had tried to be optimistic.

“Perhaps this man is the answer,” she’d said, holding Rey’s coat and scarf. She wound the knitted scarf around her neck and shrugged the pea coat on. It was almost as warm as a cloak, and Rey did like the look of it over her sensible pantsuit and loafers. She would blend in with the muggles just fine.

“Or it’s just another name to add to the list of cursebreakers who can’t break the curse,” she’d said before turning on her heel and apparating to Hermione’s flat.

They’d traveled the muggle way to the café, taking a red bus and walking down a few twisted streets into the heart of Shoreditch. Hermione insisted they arrive half an hour early and had checked her dainty wristwatch what seemed like every two minutes until a chime sounded from the door promptly at 8:15. Rey resisted the instinct to look over her shoulder at whoever had entered — the way her friend’s posture straightened told her who it was.

“Granger,” Draco Malfoy’s smooth voice floated above her. “Miss Niima.”

He circled the table and pulled out the chair beside Hermione with an elegant hand, then gestured behind Rey. “May I introduce Ben Solo?”

When she turned around she was surprised that the American was young, probably early thirties like Draco and Hermione. And he was tall, with dark hair that waved to his collar and a strong nose. Wearing all black, as if this was a funeral. She might have found him handsome, if he wasn’t looking at her as if she’d just transfigured herself into a rat. Or perhaps a cockroach.

“Hello,” he said, voice deep and rough. As if he wasn’t used to greeting anyone, let alone doing so kindly.

“Hermione Granger,” she stood and extended her hand, which was soon dwarfed in his. “Thank you for meeting with us. I’m sure Malfoy has told you about all of the Ministry cursebreakers who have tried to help. Most of them have never seen a curse quite like this before but I’ve done a lot of my own research on—”

“Yes I’m sure you have,” Solo cut in with a clipped agitation. “I can tell I’ll need caffeine to handle your…enthusiasm.”

Rey glared daggers at him as he strode to the counter and ordered. “Gee, Draco, he sure is charming.”

“I never said he’d be easy to work with,” he replied, snatching Hermione’s cup. When he brought it to his lips, amidst wild protests from the witch, he sniffed and recoiled. “What have you done to this coffee, Granger?”

She took it back, careful to only touch the cup. “It’s a pumpkin spice latte and you can get your _own_.”

They bickered about the merits of sugary coffees (Hermione’s preference) and something about respecting the simplicity of coffee without additives (Draco), but Rey kept her eyes on the American until he sat beside her. He placed two black coffees on the table and took a generous drink of his before speaking. Not even wincing at the temperature. Perhaps he no longer had taste buds. Or feelings.

“So you’re the girl with the unbreakable curse,” he said, roving his eyes over her with distaste.

Rey dismissed him with the wave of a hand. “Aye, that’s me. Steeped in tragedy.”

“I understand meeting in a muggle location for privacy purposes but in this situation it’s only wasting my time. I’d rather get to the point.”

“Oh, please, as if you’re so bloody important you can’t take ten minutes for basic pleasantries,” she spat. At some point her arms had crossed in front of her, thumbs pinching the grey tweed of her sleeves though she itched for her wand.

“Miss Niima—”

“I think given your candor you can just call me Rey.”

“Fine. Whatever. Ancestral magic always has a tether, typically an object of great significance. In my experience it is often something familial that would be buried with the cursed—”

“Sorry, what?”

“Whomever the curse was placed on is likely buried with the object that tethers the curse after their death. If the caster was smart, at least. I’m assuming since no one else has been able to break it that whoever cast the curse was a powerful wizard. Or witch, I guess,” he added. The arse.

“None of the cursebreakers we’ve worked with have ever even suggested that,” Hermione said. “But I did read about—”

“I’d rather not spend more time than necessary in this antiquated country,” Solo said, cutting her off once again. Rey could feel her skin heat; Hermione’s rigid posture had slumped. He turned to her. “Who was the curse placed on? Do you know that much?”

“Yes I know that much about my own curse, thank you.” she said. “It was my grandfather.”

“Well? Where’s he buried, then? That’s where we should be going.” He stood, the chair loud on the wooden floor. His coffee half empty. A crumpled fiver tossed on the table. Draco smirked into his cup, draining it. Hermione sputtered under her breath but got to her feet, looking for her jacket. Draco held it up for her and she wretched it from his hands to put it on herself.

“Fine,” Rey said, gathering her things. “We’ll need to walk a few blocks to an apparition point and I’ll take us there.”

They naturally separated into pairs, which gave Hermione a chance to go over her research with Rey, who had to tamper her magic so that she didn’t accidentally on purpose cast a nonverbal bat-bogey hex on the tall, pompous man in front of her. The size of the bats that could come out of his large nose made her smile.

“—and I read about a traditionally French style of magic where runes can be tethered to a person, and those can be passed down through ancestral lines so he should probably check for that as well,” Hermione said, chattering away about this and that idea. But Rey barely heard her.

All of the other cursebreakers Hermione had brought into her life just met with her in a conference room at the ministry, performed a few spells, and left puzzled. She’d never had any of them inquire after her family. There was no cursed necklace or goblet. They insisted that the curse couldn’t be broken. If it hadn’t been countered during the cursed’s lifetime it was unlikely that it would ever be. The only people who knew she was related to Sheev Palpatine were Hermione, her best friends from Hogwarts — Rose and Finn, and Maz. And the ministry’s records, she supposed. To everyone else she was just Rey Niima. Former Gryffindor chaser, current low-level employee in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

No one had come to visit. Even if she’d had time to prepare for guests it would still be in crumbling disrepair. Though the Palpatine vault at Gringotts wasn’t empty, it didn’t hold enough galleons to bring the 50-acre estate to its former glory. Her parents had spent with reckless abandon. Nor did Rey care about restoring it — it was just a house to her. A rather large, drafty house with a doxy problem, to be sure, but not a home. She’d been saving the galleons from her meager salary for a flat but she didn’t want to leave Maz.

As they reached the apparition point Hermione pulled her arm to stop her steps, tucking them into the doorway of a closed shop.

“Rey, you’ve been silent this entire walk.”

“I’m sorry,” she sighed, “it’s just a lot to take in. I don’t…You know I don’t talk about my family. Especially about him. And to someone like Solo.”

“I know,” Hermione said, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. “But this is his job and he’s probably never even heard of your grandfather. He’ll be discrete.”

“I hope so. And I hope I can afford it.”

“Don’t worry about that, you know I’ll help—”

“Hermione, you’re no better off than me — I know your salary and your flat is in worse shape than the estate.”

She snorted and tugged Rey along, where the two wizards waited for them. They were like opposite ends of an arrogant coin. Where Malfoy was relaxed, with a smug self-importance that balanced on a wink and sneer, Solo was rigid and scowling. None of the mischief and mirth of his pale friend. Rey wondered if the man had ever laughed in his miserable life.

“Probably best if we go in pairs, I suppose,” Rey said. “Don’t want to risk splinching someone of your…size. Hermione, do you remember the bookshop we went to for that muggle author you like—”

“Right,” she said, “shall we meet at the apparition point near Shakespeare’s birthplace then?”

Ben Solo took two steps towards Rey and gripped her arm. “Let’s go.”

Hermione’s wide eyes met Rey’s when she realized just who she’d be paired with. Rey tried to give her a reassuring nod.

As she turned to apparate she saw a smile curve onto Draco’s face as he looked down at Hermione, waiting for her to take his arm. “Alright there, Granger?”

With a jolt, she and Solo landed in Stratford-upon-Avon, in a tiny wizarding alleyway tucked behind the high street.

“I’m assuming there are wards around the property and we’ll need to walk?” Solo asked.

“Hopefully your delicate sensibilities can handle the cobblestones,” Rey replied sweetly. He furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to reply when a _crack_ brought Draco and Hermione in front of them, the latter stepping to Rey’s side quickly. Malfoy brushed some dust from his dark muggle suit.

It was still early, and though Prospero’s Way held a variety of wizarding shops, they walked quickly, following Rey across the ancient stones. Avoiding the few witches and wizards out shopping on a Saturday morning. The road twisted and turned, revealing apothecaries and an owlery, before widening to a country lane of small, thatch-roofed cottages. In the distance was an endless field of wildflowers — primrose and cornflower and ragged robin and tall stems of lady’s gloves. To muggle eyes, that’s all there was. But if you looked closer you would find poisonous angel’s trumpet and Galanthus Nivalis. Hemlock and nightshade. Potion ingredients for the fair and foul.

She could hear the muffled sounds of a quiet conversation between Solo and Malfoy, but didn’t strain her ears to hear what it was about.

Once they were within a few meters of the field an iron gate appeared — with the ivy-covered estate behind it. The east wing was entirely unlivable. The outer wall had collapsed ten years before, during a bad storm while she was at school. It was sealed off from the rest of the house. Smoke trailed from some of the fireplaces, the only ones that worked. The kitchens, where Maz spent most of her time, and the main drawing room.

As they approached the gate Rey waved her hand to open it, rust from the hinges flaking onto the ground. She led them through the brown grass. The slate path long overgrown and cracked. She kept a quick pace, eager to avoid any comments from the others.

The once grand oak doors were splintered. The left one permanently stuck. No matter what spells she used it wouldn’t open. The ornate brass handles, shaped like dragon wings, were cold beneath her touch.

Maz greeted them at the door, alerted by the wards of Rey’s arrival.

“My, you wizards are tall.” She said, eying the group from behind her thick glasses.

Rey sighed. It wasn’t worth getting Maz’s hopes up about the curse so she just nodded.

“I’ll send some tea to the drawing room,” Maz said before heading down the hidden stairs to the kitchens. They were cramped, meant for house elves, but Maz was small and didn’t even have to hunch.

At last Rey turned to face her companions, holding her chin high, should any of them have an opinion on the split tiles or peeling wallpaper. Solo eyed her curiously — or furiously, it was hard to tell if any of his expressions were anything other than anger. Hermione spoke first.

“Shall we go somewhere more…er…comfortable? Maz mentioned a drawing room.”

Rey nodded again and steered them away from the foyer and down one of the only cobweb-free hallways. They passed a few shut doors before Rey abruptly turned into a large drawing room. It was one of the only places she bothered to keep presentable. A few navy sofas and armchairs dotted the room, covered in worn velvet. The wallpaper had been removed and replaced with a pale grey paint. All of her books lined the shelves on the far wall. She waved her hand over the fireplace and low, crackling embers glowed orange in the grates.

“I assume that other cursebreakers have performed rudimentary diagnostic spells?” Solo said, getting right to the point. Hermione perched at the edge of an armchair, angling her legs away from Draco, who sat on the armrest rather than in his own seat.

“Yes that’s typically where they start and then tell me it’s impossible. Would you like to join their ranks?”

Solo nodded and pulled out a beautiful wand. The wood was almost red, and it was easily the longest wand she’d ever seen in a wizard’s hand. He held it like a conductor at a symphony, lightly tracing shapes around her and analyzing the various colors that each diagnostic spell produced. Most of them nonverbal. There was a furrow to his brow, but in the last hour she’d come to know that was, perhaps, a normal expression for him. His resting face.

“Well,” he said, continuing to circle her, “it appears that the cursebreakers who came before me weren’t entirely inept. At a glance, it does seem immovable.”

“Can’t believe you’re admitting that, mate.” Draco drawled, stretching an arm over the back of the chair. Rey watched him hesitate to touch one of Hermione’s errant curls. When he looked up and caught her eye she smirked and he quickly looked away.

“Ancestral magic is different. Has anyone talked to you about runes in curses?”

Hermione eagerly replied, “I’ve looked into it but no one has agreed with me—”

“Right. Well there’s a rare form of magic that uses runes to—”

“Leave a mark throughout one’s bloodline. I’ve read about it.” Hermione said. “If you’d actually bothered to engage with either of us instead of talking over us, you’d have noticed that I actually suggested it to you earlier.”

Rey watched as Solo turned the faintest shade of pink and she couldn’t help but smile. _Good_ , she thought. Perhaps he was human after all.

With a grimace he whispered an incantation under his breath in what sounded like French, swirling shapes in the air while Rey stood, expression blasé as she wished she’d had the foresight to get a takeaway croissant from the café. She didn’t like being in the center of the room.

After a few minutes a shimmer appeared in the air around her, with hazy runes that dispersed as quickly as they appeared.

“You have traces of runes but they’re too faint to make out,” Solo said. One of his large hands rubbed his jaw.

“Is there anything else you know about this curse, Niima? Start at the beginning,” Draco said.

“It’s ancestral, obviously. If anyone in my grandfather’s line falls in love, the person that they love will die in their arms. My parents weren’t a love match, he made sure of that. I don’t bother with relationships. Honestly, it’s not that big of a deal. The curse will die with me, I’m the last—” she caught herself before saying his name.

“It _is_ a big deal, it affects your life in a huge way!” Hermione exclaimed, tugging the ends of her wild hair.

“How do you know that’s all the curse is?” Solo asked.

“My mother told me about it when I came of age and the wizard who cursed my grandfather was kind enough to explain it in detail,” Rey said.

“What exactly did he say? You’re a witch, you should know that phrasing is important,” he snapped.

Rey hesitated. She’d never shown anyone the letter. It was Maz who found it, tucked away in her grandfather’s desk, hidden inside an old ledger. Three sets of eyes locked on her, ranging from grey to hazel to brown. She removed her wand and conjured the faded note, written in blood-red ink and signed only _A.S_.

Ben snatched the letter from the air and scanned it quickly.

“Palpatine,” he said, the word poison on his tongue. He turned to Draco, “You told me her name was Niima.”

“That’s what—”

“My name _is_ Niima. I’ve never used my grandfather’s name and I never shall. I’m nothing like him.” Rey put herself in his space, craning her neck up.

“I don’t care if you rescue puppies and brew potions for hospitals in your spare time. I’m not helping a Palpatine.”

“Well I never wanted your help in the first place, you overgrown troll! No one is forcing you to stay here.”

“If I can’t apparate out of this derelict place at least tell me where you keep the Floo powder,” he said, the grip on his wand punishing. He assessed the mantle, scowling when an _accio_ failed to produce anything.

Rey snorted. “As you can see from the state of things in this _derelict_ _place_ nothing works, including the bloody Floo network.”

“Fine,” he said, and pushed past her. She followed, but only to make sure he walked out of the house and not deeper into it. When she was satisfied that he had truly left, she turned on her heel and ran further into the haunted halls.

* * *

Hermione hesitated to follow Rey, who had stomped in the opposite direction, and instead jogged after Draco through the hall and towards the foyer. Ben had reached the front door but stopped, as if in thought.

“Please don’t go,” she said, leaning her hands on her knees to catch her breath. “You’re our only hope.”

Ben faced them, looking down his nose, full lips scowling. He was taller than Draco, with a build more suited to a beater or a keeper. That was about the extent of Hermione’s quidditch knowledge.

“She doesn’t seem to care about the curse being broken and I’d rather not waste any more of my time. I have a case in Edinburgh I’m neglecting just by being here. Why should I bother with someone who doesn’t want my help?”

“Oh, come on, Solo. You know you can’t turn down a challenge,” Malfoy said, leaning against the front door. Blocking the exit. She was sure he held his wand in his pocket. “Don’t you have a reputation to uphold? Or should I owl your boss and ask for a better cursebreaker to be sent over? I’ve the means to afford an international portkey if I must.”

Ben pulled a hand through his thick hair, ruffling it slightly. “They’d just send Hux and he’s as inept as they come.”

“Oh, that’s not what I’ve heard. Armitage Hux has a pretty stellar reputation at the Ministry. One of my colleagues consults with him regularly. Perhaps I should request his assistance, since you don’t seem to have the skills you claim to.”

“Fuck off, Malfoy, I’m the best cursebreaker and the only one who understands what a runic trace means for a curse like this.”

Draco smirked. “What’s the expression? Put your money where your mouth is? Granger, back me up here.”

Before she could, Ben released a groan. “If my family knew I was helping a Palpatine—”

Hermione had enough. “You’re helping _Rey_. Just Rey. She’s not her family name she is a person and breaking this curse is the right thing to do. Please.”

She stared at him, aware of the frustrated tears lining her eyes. But she tried to keep her head up, and her shoulders squared. A facade she’d adopted a long time ago. If she just stood straight and kept her chin high, nothing could harm her. She was immovable. She’d seen worse than Ben Solo.

“Please.” She repeated, louder.

Ben trailed his cold eyes over her, working his jaw. With a glance behind his shoulder he opened his mouth to refuse—

“You owe me, Solo. Consider this my coming to collect.” Draco said cooly. For a moment the two men assessed one another without blinking or moving. As if having a conversation in the ways they narrowed their eyes and pursed their lips. She wondered if Malfoy had tightened his hold on his wand. If it would turn into a fight. She didn’t think the foundation could handle a duel.

“If anyone can break it, it’s you,” Draco said, straightening to his full height. “You _will_ do this.”

With a final huff of annoyance Ben marched back into the house, aiming for the drawing room they’d been in before. “I’ll wait half an hour and then I’m leaving,” he shouted. And he slammed the door behind him.

“I suppose we should find Rey,” Draco said, smoothing a casual hand over his hair.

Hermione nodded. “She went further into the house. I’ll get her.” With a swish, she cast a patronus — her little otter bounced around them for a moment and she smiled. “Find Rey and deliver this message: Come back to the drawing room.”

The glowing otter disappeared down the hall but before they had even reached the room Rey’s desert fox came racing up to her, and the voice of her friend said, simply, “No.”

They’d have to look for her, Hermione realized with a grimace. At least they could follow the faint trace of the patronus charm through the dark halls. Like breadcrumbs in a fairytale.

There wasn’t much for decoration though there were faded spots where portraits must have once hung. The Palpatine line was old, but as with most pureblood lines that refused to marry outside of the wizarding world, had begun to die out entirely over the last hundred years.

“I did some research—”

“Of course you did. What topic struck the Golden Girl’s fancy this time?” Malfoy asked. He kept a dim _lumos_ at the tip of his wand, which he swept through open rooms as they crept further into the house. Though it was mid-morning, the ivy on the outside covered most of the windows. Leaving the rooms in darkness. They looked in on a formal dining room, with a shattered chandelier in the center of the room. A dusty billiards room with faint streams of light sneaking through the leaves, highlighting the dust in the air.

“Rey’s grandfather — Sheev Palpatine. I’d heard a little about him but wanted to see for myself. Quite the past with Voldemort, secretly funding his early efforts. And he had some sort of rivalry with another wizard, something Skywalker, I don’t remember. They were all involved in an incident in the Department of Mysteries fifty years ago. The Ministry tried to cover it up but I found a few old issues of the Quibbler about it.”

“You mean Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Naberrie.”

“Right. She was brilliant. A lot of articles thought she’d be minister for magic someday but then she died so young.”

“I’m sure you read the rumors that Palpatine was responsible for her death,” Draco said and she nodded. He cleared his throat. “They were Solo’s grandparents.”

“What?” Hermione stopped. “And you’re just telling me this now?”

“If I knew Rey’s lineage I would have warned you there was a connection there.”

“Do you think Skywalker must have taken revenge?”

“I know they had a duel and that Palpatine won after using dark curses that Skywalker refused to return,” Draco stopped when they reached the end of the hall. It split in both directions. Hermione sent some light to the east, which seemed to be blocked off. Probably the part of the mansion that had collapsed. She doubted Rey would seek solitude there and turned down the western hall.

“From the photographs of him, he was quite dreadful to look at,” she whispered. This part of the house made her uneasy. Every step on the hardwood floors echoed. She wondered how hard it must be for Rey to live here. In what was essentially a ruin. “He had scars all over his neck like dark vines. I’ve read that it’s not uncommon.”

“Dark magic leaves its mark,” Draco said, a bitter edge to his voice. His left hand twitched beneath his wand.

She swallowed. The grip on her own wand slipping in her clammy hands. “Marks can fade, too,” she said, then softly added, “Especially if the wizard’s heart wasn’t in it.”

It was something she’d never said aloud before, let alone to him. But she’d thought it often over the years. Whenever they’d inevitably find themselves at the edge of a room, surrounded by ministry workers sipping champagne and sizing up donors while Kingsley made grand speeches about the future. She’d never been comfortable at big events. Crowds made her nervous. It was easier to stay on the periphery, and most of the time Malfoy would join her. Often it was the other way around. She’d find herself drawn to him. They’d pass the night together until the next one.

“Can I ask you something, Granger?”

There was a softness to his tone that surprised her. “I suppose you can,” she said, once again avoiding his eyes.

“You testified for me.” It wasn’t a question but she didn’t point that out.

“Malfoy, that was more than ten years ago. And you already thanked me. It’s…water under the bridge and all that. We don’t have to talk about it.”

“You also wrote to McGonagall to convince her to let me sit for NEWTs,” he continued.

“Well, you were top of our class after me, it was only fair. You deserved to suffer through hours of exams just like the rest of us.” She pushed open a door to find a ballroom that hadn’t seen light in at least fifty years. The sounds of scuttering against the floor made her shut the door just as quickly, picturing acromantela and worse.

“And I know you spoke to Kingsley when I applied for the job at the DMLE.”

Hermione stumbled over the frayed rug beneath her feet, Malfoy reached out to steady her but she quickened her steps to avoid his touch. “Because you were qualified for the position! No one else came close to your test scores and you had an edge because, well, you grew up surrounded by cursed objects. Your father’s collection took the ministry months to catalogue,” she was rambling now.

“What did it matter if I got the job or not?”

“If you didn’t get the job you would have probably followed his footsteps and I didn’t want you wasting your potential—”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re smart and skilled when it comes to cursed objects. You fixed a broken vanishing cabinet as a sixth year. Most wizards wouldn’t be capable of that level of magic.”

He reached out and stilled her with a hand on her arm. The hallway felt narrower as he loomed over her. The warmth of his touch seeping through the silk of her sleeve. Her heartbeat quickened. “Yes, I know that I’m good at my job but why did you care so much? Why intervene?”

“I didn’t—”

“Yes, you did. Speaking to Kingsley and McGonagall is the definition of intervening.”

She scoffed. “Hardly. I’ve kept a regular correspondence with McGonagall, ever since the rebuilding efforts at Hogwarts. We were always close, she was my head of house. And I see Kingsley at the Ministry. Quite regularly. We’re colleagues—”

“What about the other thing?”

“What other thing?” She stalled, flicking her eyes to his hand on her arm, thumb brushing up and down.

“About wasting my potential? How will you explain that, Granger?”

She gaped at him, the way his eyes had shifted from chips of ice to storm clouds as he tracked the movement of her mouth. A swish and flick over his shoulder saved her from whatever half-excuse she would have managed. “Rey,” she called, stepping around him and into the open sitting room.

“Perfect timing as ever,” he mumbled behind her.

Rey stood in a decrepit sitting room, setting a sofa to rights with a _wingardium leviosa_. The furniture was moth-eaten and a boggart rattled around in a liquor cabinet. Hermione left it there, not thrilled at the idea that it could take on a new form from her usual “you’ve-just-been-sacked” fear. Something worse. Something that she kept buried for the last decade. Something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face just yet, though it was now at the very front of her mind. Leaving a mark on her arm where he’d touched her.

Doxies fluttered behind the heavy, torn curtains. Rey half-heartedly cleared tumbleweeds of dust from the floor without looking up.

“Hermione, I’m fine. I didn’t expect anything,” she said.

“He didn’t leave,” Hermione said, taking a step closer. She removed her own wand and repaired a broken chair. The task helped calm her, so she set about fixing the rest of furniture.

“Why, did he trip on his own self-importance and break his big nose? I’m afraid it’s been a while since I’ve mended a broken nose. Can’t guarantee it will look the same.”

Draco huffed a laugh. “He’s fulfilling his promise. He’ll break the curse.”

“Rey, could I see the letter?” Hermione asked, setting an ottoman down gently. With another flick of her wand Rey sent it to her. It was written on thick parchment and the red ink had oxidized to a darker shade. Malfoy leaned to read over her shoulder, his exhales teasing her curls.

> Palpatine,
> 
> When my love took her last breath I vowed to keep fighting for what she thought was right. I tried to lead you to the light yet so long as you walk this earth you will be shadowed in hatred. Just as your darkness has marked you in life so too will I mark you in death. Though you will never learn, I have hope for those who come after you. Take the brunt of my curse, Sheev, and may your heirs stand against their fate. Only then will your line know peace.
> 
> — A.S.

“This bit here,” Draco trailed his index finger over the page, the warmth of him enveloping her. “Says he will be ‘marked after death.’ Solo’s right. We should go to the family crypt.”

Hermione scrunched her brow as she looked back at him, their faces were close.

“What?” He said. “All of the old pureblood estates have one. I’m sure Sheev here has quite the tomb. Probably gilded edges and all that. Maybe a few gargoyles standing sentinel.”

Rey groaned and fussed with one of the three buns she wore in her hair, as if she was going to pull it free. “Of course there’s a family tomb. Where’s Solo? I want to get this over with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to do reference notes in my last fic ([After Hours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013255/chapters/57771025)) and I really liked it so I’ve added notes to chapter 1 and the remaining chapters will all have some little fun facts/notes.
> 
> I am a Shakespeare nerd and the thought of Palace de Palpatine being in the English countryside near his birthplace was very pleasing to me. It’s such a sweet little town and Palpatine would have hated it. Because it’s Stratford-upon-Avon I had to give this version of Diagon Alley a Shakespearean name. [Prospero](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prospero) is the wizard in _The Tempest_.
> 
> Lol I get to make wand jokes now! More details about wands (actual wands, not...you know) play an important role in a later chapter so for now the specifics (wood and core) will remain a mystery.
> 
> I swear I did not _intentionally_ make a “Help me Obi-Wan” reference but that is something I would normally do intentionally so.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 🖤✨


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The air crackled with dark magic. She could taste it on each breath — bitter, cold, and ashy. The coals of a fire long burnt out. The last remnants of an evil man._

Ben Solo sat folded into an armchair, long legs sprawled across a third of the room. The teacup in his hands looked comically small as he brought it to his full lips to take a sip. Despite how they’d parted ways earlier he looked more relaxed than Rey had seen him. The expression on his face was neutral. But she didn’t feel as though she owed him niceties. He was here to do a job. Or at least make the attempt.

“Shall we get this over with?” She said. Solo finished his tea and stood, towering over her.

“After you,” he said, motioning.

Rey nodded and turned towards the door, where Draco and Hermione waited.They stepped to the side to let her lead the way. First she turned left down the hall, moving past the music room, the billiards room, and the ballroom. All useless. Four sets of footsteps echoed on the wooden panelling behind her. When they reached the end of the hall she turned left, to the east wing.

“This part of the house is a bit,” she struggled to come up with a better word, “—it’s a bit of a bloody disaster. Best to keep your wands out to clear away debris. I haven’t been down here in a few years so no telling what might have taken up residence.”

“Delightful,” Draco said, pulling a bit of cobweb from his sleeve. “If you lead us to a manticore, Niima, I’ll never get over it.”

“Manticores would never choose to inhabit such a cramped space and they’re nearly impossible to capture. We learnt about them in fourth year, don’t you remember?” Hermione said.

“I remember a lot of burned fingers from Hagrid’s Skrewts and that’s about all, Granger. Unlike you I didn’t memorize our textbooks.”

“A what now?” Solo said, cocking a brow at Rey.

“Don’t ask me, I wasn’t in their year,” she replied. “Probably for the best since there was no place as dangerous as Hogwarts the entire time they attended. Talk about a bloody curse…”

“Better off not knowing about them, mate.”

They stepped over bits of rubble until they reached the sealed part of the house. Rey muttered a few incantations to open the wards, instantly letting cold air rush against them. The roof had caved in and the ivy that covered the exterior of the estate creeped into the remains of the conservatory and orangery.

Most of the broken stones and splintered wood were easily cleared away with magic, but some were too large. When they had to climb over a particularly precarious section of what was once a decorative column, Rey glanced at Solo, who had his eyes on her already.

“Sorry about the mess,” she drawled. “If I’d have known you were coming I would have done absolutely nothing different.”

He chuckled. “Good. I appreciate the exercise.”

“I don’t,” Malfoy said from somewhere behind them.

“Besides,” Solo continued, “this is nothing compared to half of the places a curse breaker is sent.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, a little winded. They finally clambered over the other side and landed on somewhat level stone slab flooring.

“A house in shambles is pretty much the definition of our job,” Draco said, steadying her elbow. “Believe it or not this isn’t the worst of it.”

“Surprised you chose a career that guarantees you get dust on your clothes, Malfoy,” Hermione said.

Rey stopped them in front of the ruined doors of the library. Most of the inside had been cleared out. The valuable books sold off before she was born. The rest, who knows. At the center of the room was a large fireplace, flanked by the twin dragons of the Palpatine sigil. One was crouched, its tail curling along the mantle, wings tucked in tight to its lithe form. The other stretched to the ceiling, its jaws open, claws sharp on the flagstones near the fire grate. One giant wing unfurled across most of the wall beside it. It was once the main Floo passage for the estate. Three men taller than Solo could have fit abreast inside its cavernous hold.

A cracked mirror hung above the mantle, covered in dust and tarnished blotches. When she caught her reflection she saw that the lowest of her buns had come undone, so she combed her hair with her fingers, settling it into a simple half-up style.

“I’ll need a minute to find the door,” she said. “Feel free to…I don’t know, admire the former glory of my ancestral home.”

She trailed her fingers over the mantle. It was grey marble. Likely imported. The only reason it hadn’t been ripped from the walls and sold off was because it was part of the skeleton of the house. To remove it would cause total collapse. Maybe once she’d found a decent flat she could afford she would do it. Watch the half-standing Palace de Palpatine turn to nothing but a ruin.

From what she knew of the house from Maz, the crypt was beneath the library. Through a hidden doorway near the massive fireplace. First she examined the crouched dragon, with its snarling face. Because of the blood wards throughout the estate she was really just looking for that little tingle of magic. Something that only she would feel.

She moved to the other side, the larger carving. The smooth sides of the dragon’s extended wing in sharp contrast to the scales of its body. Some of them had once been lined with gemstones. Jagged bits of amethyst clung to the edges of a few scales. Someone had torn them out. As she examined it her eye was drawn upward. There was something about the talon on the tip of the wing. It was capped in metal — dark, with intricate scrollwork.

Knowing what she knew about her family history, there was only one reason for that. Magical metals were fairly common, moreso around the estate. There was one for the lord’s suite, one for the gallery. She’d tucked her wand back in her pocket and pushed her sleeve up just a bit.

“What are you doing?”

Solo stood over her shoulder, watching her movements with dark eyes.

“What do you think I’m doing?” She said, voice calm as reached up towards the talon.

His hand snapped out and held her wrist. “If you’re about to touch what could easily be a cursed—”

“It’s a blood seal,” she said, wrenching her arm from his grasp. “They’re all over the house. I know what I’m doing.” He grabbed her again and she was finding herself out of patience. “Let. Go.”

When he didn’t she tried to twist from his grasp but he held firm. With his wand he cast a few spells over the dragon’s wing. Whatever he was looking for didn’t appear and his frown deepened. “Fine,” he said, pushing her out of his grip.

She reached out again, tracing the shape of the talon with the tip of her forefinger. The engravings were little swirls that lead to the sharp tip. With a grimace she pressed her finger against it, feeling her skin split and the blood toll paid.

The stone dragon roared to life. Its serpentine face turned to look at Rey. Where stone, carved eyes had been now shone dark ruby, the shade of fresh blood. There was almost a gleam to its eye. As if it had longed to waken. It twisted in the stones, pulling its wing in to rest against its body. In the space left behind was an arched doorway, with a narrow spiral stairway leading down into darkness.

“Right. Let’s go, then,” Rey said, wand back in her hand as she approached the opening. The stairs were steep, and the walls seemed to weep green lichen. The stones were damp. Silently she took the first few steps, hearing her companions cast their own _lumos_ to light the way. The stairs turned tightly around. There were no candles and once she’d made the first circular turn, even the midday sun from the library’s broken skylights was gone. Only the glow from the tip of her wand guided her. After a few moments she imagined they must be two levels underground, past the old potion’s lab and even the dungeons. The stairs descended to a long hallway. There was an elegant door at the end, carved mahogany. The twin dragons once again. She much preferred the quieter sigil of her mother’s house, with its blooming roses.

This time, the door swung open at her approach. The hinges didn’t make a sound. Everything was untouched by time or weather or decay.

Rey had never been to the crypt before. There’d been no reason to. Though her father was the head of the house, he’d been buried in the small cemetery at the rear of the property rather than take his place in the crypt. Her mother had been buried in the Niima family plot. The last in her line. Not that she visited their graves. She barely knew them.

Now she wondered how it would feel to surround herself with ghosts. Less friendly than those who haunted Hogwarts. At least they must have kept to this part of the house, if they did stay in this realm rather than move on.

What would she do if she encountered her grandfather as a specter? She’d not seen so much as a portrait of him. Long before she was born her father stripped his portraits from the estate. And then sold off most of the family heirlooms. Would she recognize his face?

The sconces on the wall lit themselves as she entered the room. Like the rest of the house it hummed alive with her blood. It was a circular mausoleum, with about a dozen tombs in the walls. At the center was Sheev Palpatine, preserved beneath a glass case. Wrinkled hands clasped over his yew and dragon heartstrings wand, with a large golden ring on his little finger. The family crest. Despite the preservation spell, his visage was grim. Purple veins like lightning stretched across his neck, pulling towards his face. They peeked out of his long velvet sleeves to touch the backs of his hands. He looked old and cruel. A husk of a wizard, draped in fine robes.

The air crackled with dark magic. She could taste it on each breath — bitter, cold, and ashy. The coals of a fire long burnt out. The last remnants of an evil man.

They circled his viewing casket, each drawing their wands. Draco traced a few spells along it.

“Family ring,” he said. “An obvious host for a dark curse but it’s fairly dulled.”

“Yes that’s definitely it, but I have a feeling that the curse has also manifest in the man’s blood. Ancestral curses on one’s lineage will do that, if they’re strong enough,” Solo replied.

He performed a few fancy spells in a language Rey didn’t recognize. When the dulcet murmurs ceased, he made a twirling, pulling motion that reminded her of muggles fishing, only instead of pulling trout from a stream he pulled runes from a dead man’s corpse.

They were about the size of her palm, and soon they shone bright on the walls — like glowing purple ink. Undulating like a living, breathing thing.

Hermione conjured a quill and parchment and began transcribing the runes, muttering to herself. Draco occasionally offered his own input and the two of them were soon chattering back and forth about the symbols.

Rey had never bothered to take Ancient Runes when she was at Hogwarts.

“I don’t recognize half of these symbols,” Solo said, copying them down in a small leather notebook. He used a muggle pen, too. The kind that had the ink built in. It was surprising to Rey that a wizard would seem so comfortable in muggle clothes and using muggle objects. She wondered if he was muggle-born, like Hermione.

It took her a moment to realize he was staring at her.

“What?” She said.

“I asked what you thought of the runes, if any of them mean anything to you. Sometimes familial symbols will make their way in.”

Rey looked again at the swirling shapes and symbols and sighed. “To be honest I’m a bit rubbish at runes. Half of them look the same and the other half look like a child’s scribbles.”

The corner of his mouth quirked, and she could have sworn the rough breath he let out was actually the beginnings of a chuckle. “That makes two of us. I usually just copy them down and send them to Mitaka, he’s one of the best runic translators in my division.”

“Well, with Hermione here I don’t think you’ll need to bother. She reads books on runology for fun. Light reading, as it were.”

The air in the crypt shifted and Rey was glad for her wool suit. Hermione was shivering in her silk dress when, without moving from their work, Draco cast a warming charm over them. Perhaps her brilliant friend would finally see what was right in front of her. Somehow Rey doubted it. Brightest witch of her age but still thick when it came to her own feelings.

Solo examined the glass coffin for a few more moments, commenting on the gilded edges, before moving to the walls. Reading names in his low rumble.

“Must be strange for you,” he said, tracing his wand over a moss-covered name at the bottom.

“What do you mean?”

“Only that it seems like you’re not exactly a family person and here you are, surrounded by dead relatives in an big old house.”

“Big old dead house,” she clarified. “I suppose it’s strange to be down here and feel nothing. Maz is the only real family I have and she’s not even related to me.”

“I’ve never put much stock in blood relations myself. Sometimes the family you choose is more important.”

“Are you not…close with your own family?” It wasn’t really her business to ask, but knowing that his family was connected to hers, however darkly, made her curious.

“For a long time I wasn’t but we’re closer now.” Solo pulled his notebook out again and began writing more notes. The script elegant.

“It’s going to take me some time to work through these,” Hermione said. “These symbols are all from different runic alphabets. I have a few books at home that will help but I’ll have to write Professor McGonagall to see if I can visit the library at Hogwarts to research some of the more obscure ones. If I could borrow an owl—”

“That won’t be necessary, Granger. I’ve moved the contents of the library at the Manor to my townhouse. There’s hundreds of books on runes there,” Draco said. “More than Hogwarts. You can take as long as you like.”

Hermione bit her lip, which meant she was nervous, but she also had a gleam in her eye that Rey knew she only got when a library was in her future.

“There’s a few more things I want to check here,” Solo said. “Why don’t you two go work on the translation and send an owl when you’ve gotten somewhere.”

“Yes Hermione, do go and be alone with Draco for a while,” Rey said with a smirk. Her friend did not return it but Malfoy did.

* * *

Twenty minutes later they walked down the ruined front pathway, careful to watch their steps over the broken stones and uneven ground. As they reached the gates, Hermione muttered a few spells to replace the rusty hinges and mend some broken posts. Draco held the iron bars open for her, shaking his head slightly.

As the sun grew higher in the sky, the crisp autumn air was cut through with warm rays. She’d always liked this part of the country, with the straw roofs on the houses and lumpy cobblestones beneath her ankle boots. The muggle shop she’d gone to the day before helped her dress appropriately for the occasion. She understood muggle clothing, of course, but she didn’t keep up with fashions and wanted to make sure she was on trend. It wasn’t something she usually bothered with but she’d wanted to look…nice. For the meeting. And the boots were easier than flats, especially in this terrain. The winding roads lead them back to the apparition point in Prospero’s Way. It was truly a testament to her willpower that she didn’t burst through the doors of a bookshop advertising an early edition of _Hogwarts, a History_ and an autumn sale.

Before he took her arm, Malfoy untangled a red leaf from her hair and held it out to her. “Taking a souvenir with you?” He quirked. She took it from him and twirled the stem, watching the red blur against the blue sky.

As he reached for her, spinning on his heel to apparate, she meant to let it fall from her fingers — catch on the wind and drift away. Instead she slipped it into her coat pocket. They arrived back in London at an apparition point she’d been to before — it was near a muggle museum she liked. They moved through a few quiet streets with rows of colorful houses, all three storeys high with seven steps leading to the front doors. For an old city with labyrinthine streets Hermione loved that London still had symmetry — in the row houses, most of all. As they strolled down the road she wondered which one might be his, then realized he was no longer beside her. When she turned back to him, cheeks warm, he was standing in front of a grey house that she hadn’t noticed before, because she wasn’t looking for it.

“Notice-me-not charm?”

“Can’t be too careful,” he said, and swept his arm behind her back to lead her up the steps. The door was painted black, the doorknob a simple snake, curled into a circle. Its scales textured in the silver metal. It took him a moment to unlock the door and open the wards.

“Do you have enough charms on this place?”

“Granger, at any given time this house is full of valuable and cursed objects. Merlin forbid someone break in and think, ‘This candelabra sure would fetch a gilded galleon,’ and then they’re stuck in its flames. It would be a nightmare.”

“I suppose they’d be like the genie of the lamp,” Hermione said, smiling at her muggle joke.

“No, I mean the paperwork I’d have to deal with would be a nightmare.” He opened the door and winked.

The entryway was more modern than she was expecting. And it wasn’t an assault of black and green and silver, either. Instead it was…warm. Dark wood furniture and grey walls. Hints of blue and gold and some emerald, too, among the neutral palette. There was a sitting room to the left, a dining room to the right. Straight ahead was a staircase and a gleaming kitchen at the end of a narrow hallway. She could see stainless steel appliances and white subway tile, like a typical modern muggle kitchen. A few paintings lined the wall heading upstairs. Large landscapes. Muggle paintings, that didn’t move.

“Granger?”

“What?”

“I asked if I could take your coat,” he said, holding a hand out for it. A closet door open behind him. A mix of cloaks and coats on hangers and a basket of scarves on the shelf. Most of it black or grey.

“Right, of course.” She removed her aubergine jacket quickly and passed it to him. “I was just admiring the art.”

He glanced over his shoulder and followed her eyes. “I bought the house furnished,” he said, and she felt her stomach sink a little bit. Of course he wouldn’t choose to have something like that. “Most things I’ve replaced over time but I liked the stillness of the art. Lets you admire it without changing. Or talking back.”

“Really?”

“Don’t you like to feel peace when you’re at home?”

“Well, yes, but to be honest my flat is a bit of a nightmare. I have an almost twenty-year-old cat and empty takeaway containers everywhere and—” she blushed.

Malfoy laughed a little and shut the closet, heading for the stairs. As they climbed he said, “I think I know you well enough to say with certainty that you’ll find this bit of the house to be a dream.”

And he wasn’t wrong. When they’d crested the landing she couldn’t decide where to look first — the entire floor had been fashioned into a library. Every wall was made of shelving, with thousands of colorful spines filling the spaces. A few armchairs scattered over patterned rugs. Little tables with reading lamps and a few cases of artifacts. A large fireplace, a low fire burning in the grate. It smelled of old parchment and ink and leather. Like the restricted section, only cozier.

“Watch the drool, Granger, I’ve just had the carpets cleaned.”

She jumped a little, finding him leaned against one of the shelves with a pleased smile. If there was a wall on which to casually lean, Malfoy would find it.

“Over there,” he pointed behind her to the room with the fireplace, “is mostly history and literature. A few shelves of biographies. Things you’d want to sit and read for hours by the fire.”

Hermione felt drawn to a particularly old-looking shelf just inside. Likely full of first editions.There was a large armchair, nearly the size of a loveseat, that would be perfect to curl up on. She could tuck her feet beneath her and not be bothered.

“And down there,” he pointed to the rear of the house, past the stairs, which had more shelving built into their side, “is where I keep most of the academic texts and heirlooms. Some require a bit more security.”

She’d stepped further into the short hallway, trailing a hand over a shelf of artithmancy books with faded titles. When she glanced back he was watching her, hands in his pockets.

“And what about there?” She pointed to the room behind him.

“Erotica.”

A trilling laugh escaped her and she covered her mouth with a hand while he grinned. He was always smirking or smiling in a small way, without teeth. But this was unguarded. There were a few moments where he’d shown it. Like when they’d spent an evening critiquing their colleagues and their choice of dress at the last ministry celebration three months ago. An offhanded joke about the hat Mafalda Hopkirk wore for summer solstice had made him smile broadly at her. He’d leaned over to whisper in her ear just as Harry and Ginny spotted her and led her away, to the bar. When she’d looked back he had gone.

“All the books on runes are in here,” he said, straightening. “And some potions texts but I keep most of those in my laboratory downstairs for easy reference.”

“You have a potions laboratory here? My flat doesn’t allow it. I always have to rent one at the Ministry.”

“And deal with their dreadful supplies? Next time you need to brew something, Granger, you know who to ask.”

He swept past her into the room, opening the door wider. Unlike the rest of the library this room was smaller, with sconces on the walls coming alive with his steps. There was a worn leather sofa to one side, with a knit blanket thrown over the back and a few throw pillows bunched at one end. As if someone had slept there. At the other end of the room was a small wooden table with two chairs. A large barn owl perched in the corner, turning its moon face towards her curiously. White and cream feathers glowing in the early afternoon light.

Draco dropped a stack of parchment, pots of ink, and fresh quills with a flick of his wand.

“I’d start here,” he said, tapping a high shelf. She craned her neck up to read the titles and he slid a rolling ladder to her. It was just as much a dream as he had said. “Are you hungry?”

She just nodded, transfixed by the cracked spines. The gold of the worn titles had flaked off, leaving missing letters. There were a few standard rune texts that she pulled, resting them against a hip while she silently read through other titles.

Given what she knew of Skywalker from her research this last week, she didn’t linger on any texts outside of Europe. He’d been an accomplished Auror, first assigned to protect Padmé Naberrie on a diplomatic mission. After she died he took their twins and transferred to the MACUSA Auror team. His son was an editor for _The Grey Lady_ , a wizarding newspaper. His daughter was Headmistress of Ilvermorny, after many years of political service. It was unlikely that a curse he cast while his children were infants would use any runic language outside of those he would have learned at Hogwarts. McGonagall had confirmed he was an adept student, and Professor Babbling told her that he had achieved an Outstanding on his N.E.W.T.s in the subject. When she couldn’t conceivably hold any more books in her hands she stepped back to set them on the table, and noticed Draco sitting with an ankle over a knee, a cup of tea in hand.

“Oh, good, I was worried you’d been petrified. You haven’t moved from that spot for nearly half an hour,” he said.

“Got carried away,” she said, and pulled the other chair out. She took her notes from the estate and set them on the table, then chose a quill with a sharp-looking nib and a pot of ink. For a few minutes she rewrote the runes she’d copied down, taking care to make sure that her lines were even. When she was done she held the parchment up, questioning several of the runes at the center of the page.

A small plate with a sandwich on it floated over the parchment to rest in front of her. She moved her paper to see the wizard across from her.

“If you expect that brain of yours to work properly you’ll need to eat,” Malfoy said. “It’s half two and all you’ve had was that foul coffee.”

While she bit into her food, he reviewed what she’d written.

“There are a few different translating spells we can do,” she said around a mouthful, then swallowed, covering her mouth with her hand. Her mother would have been appalled at her lack of manners. The thought brought its usual squeeze of grief. They’d never regained the closeness they had before she’d taken their memories, even all these years later, with their memories righted. She put her sandwich down and retrieved her wand, muttering the incantation over the parchment.

A few lines and characters shimmered, stretching into written English. But some were stubborn.

“Give it a minute and finish your meal, Granger.” He crossed to the far side of the room and pulled a book from the shelves, checking the index before returning it to its place. When he found the book he was looking for she had finished her meal and poured her own cup of tea, adding two sugars and a splash of milk.

Most of the runes translated into the curse itself, repeating what they already knew — that should anyone of the Palpatine bloodline fall in love, they would watch their love die in their arms.

A few of the runic symbols refused to budge, and Hermione continued to consult the stack of books beside her.

“Impressive magic,” Malfoy said, copying his own translations in clear script. “It’s not easy to achieve a mix of light and dark like this. Some of these runes I’ve only ever seen on dark objects.”

Hermione finished scratching her notes down and said, “Shades of grey are often necessary. Look at Merlin — even Dumbledore’s hands were far from clean.” The spell continued, spinning the runes and manipulating them. Harry had used an unforgivable when they were hunting horcruxes. She’d had to use bits of dark magic then, too. Sometimes she wondered if “good” and “bad” were relative terms.

“I think intent is important,” she said. “The reason why one calls upon a darker magic, I mean. Those who use it to harm or for personal gain and those who use it out of necessity. Sometimes it’s unavoidable.”

Malfoy nodded in agreement. “That’s why I made such a shit Death Eater,” he chuckled.

“I know.”

“How?”

“I would think that’s obvious,” she replied. When he only stared, his storm cloud eyes looking for something in hers, she continued. “Your heart was never in it. I could see it on your face throughout sixth year. And at the battle.” He’d only made amends since then, monetarily and otherwise. And not just to her.

Malfoy sniffed. “Watching me all these years, Granger?” She scoffed and he added, more quietly, “Bright as you are I doubt you really saw everything.”

She wondered what he meant by that and returned to her work, if only to avoid the cool grey of his gaze. Most of the runes were translated now.

“You said he owes you, Solo, I mean,” she said, flipping through a Nordic text. It wasn’t likely that any of the missing runes were Nordic, but it was the closest book and she needed something else to keep her eyes on. She’d already found the right translation for the more obscure runes that her spell was unable to decipher. There was no reason to keep looking. There was one reason.

“Yes, I saved his American hide from a nasty cursed dagger we came across while raiding an old Death Eater hideout near Oxford a few years ago. He swore to repay me for saving his life. I’d been saving it for an opportune moment.”

She thumbed the edge of her book, feeling the soft parchment and supple leather of the cover.

“But why would you use that favor to help Rey? I would have thought you’d keep something like that for yourself.”

There was a beat before he answered. “Only I’m not using it for Rey, am I?” He fixed his eyes on her. “I’m using it for you.”

Her wand vibrated on the table when the translation spell finished, taking her attention. It had converted most of the symbols into words while Hermione added the final runes she’d been translating using her _Rune Dictionary_ and _Spellman’s Syllabary_. She read it aloud slowly, repeating the lines they already knew, looking for anything that seemed mistranslated or strange. There was something new, a combination from a few different runic alphabets that she’d strung together. A clue.

> _When the forgotten is returned to my family from yours, only then will balance return._

“It seems as though something was stolen from Skywalker and if Rey returns it, the curse will break,” Hermione exclaimed, unable to hide her joy. Rey could finally be free. Perhaps she knew whatever this stolen item was. “This is it, we have to get this to them.” She added some notes to the margins then duplicated the parchment with a spell, shrinking the copy and rolling it tightly.

“Selene,” Draco called, and the owl fluttered gracefully to his arm. He tied the parchment to her and smoothed her feathers while she cooed. With a swish of his wand he vanished the window pane. “Find Rey Niima. Fast as you can fly.” With a heavy _flap_ she soared out the window and over the rooftops.

When he’d returned the window to rights he faced her, letting that unrestrained smile shine. It made him look younger. Like the boy who had loved quidditch and received a parcel of sweets every Sunday at breakfast. Like the man who made jokes with her at Ministry events and flirted with her about caramels.

“We did it,” she exclaimed. “Draco, we really did it!”

Without much thought she leapt into his arms, standing on the tips of her toes to hug around his neck. One of his arms curled around her back, hand skimming her lower waist to hold her close. The other rested gently on her hair, his face pressed against her curls. The hair at the nape of his neck was soft beneath her fingers. Her breath whispered across the skin above his collar. He smelled like old books and peppermint. With a shiver she realized this was the first time she’d touched him other than apparition or the occasional brush of a sleeve. The path she traced along his neck slowed to a stop. Perhaps he didn’t want to be touched by her. And here she was, throwing herself at the poor man.

When she pulled away she was embarrassed, taking measured steps back as her stomach sank. She smoothed her skirt and cleared her throat. Her voice shaky.

“Right. Good work, then.” She held out her hand, posture stiff and professional. It was agony to lift her head to face him. He laughed a little, shaking his head, before taking her hand and giving it a perfunctory up and down. One of his brows quirked upward while he kept his grip. One of her worst nervous habits showed up when his thumb trailed across her knuckle. Hermione bit her lower lip and pushed it out immediately before she worried it too much and left a bruise.

She started to pull her hand away when he said, low and almost to himself, “Oh, for fuck’s sake—” and dragged her back into his arms, capturing her lips with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like this chapter, it's one of my favorites. We're halfway through the story! 
> 
> A note about runes and the runic alphabets in this fic: Runes in our world are mainly early Germanic alphabets, from before we adopted Latin letters. HP mainly uses the [Elder Futhark](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elder_Futhark) runic alphabet. These are the markings seen on Azkaban placards. In the world of this fic, there are many different runic styles beyond Germanic alphabets.
> 
> Barn owls are really beautiful and ethereal. Selene is named for the Goddess of the Moon, in Greek mythology.
> 
>  _The Grey Lady_ is a nickname for _The New York Times_ , and thus it seemed like a good name for the American equivalent of _The Daily Prophet_! I realize it’s also the name of a Hogwarts ghost, but *shrug* that only makes it feel more magical. 
> 
> All of the textbooks mentioned are from the Wizarding World.
> 
> Mitaka is a First Order officer in Star Wars.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“That wand,” he said, leveling his own in front of her chest, “it belongs to me.”_

Once Solo was satisfied with his investigation of the crypt Rey shut the heavy mahogany door behind them without a backwards glance. She knew she would never return so she didn’t bother to reset the wards. Maybe that would lead to the decay of the once feared Sheev Palpatine, shriveled and forgotten in his glass coffin.

They’d barely spoken since Hermione and Draco left. Rey read the names of her long-dead relatives in their tombs while Ben cast his spells and enchantments, looking for any other clues about her curse.

Draco had dismissed her grandfather’s ring, saying that though it carried traces of a dark curse it wasn’t as powerful as the runic magic. It was more likely that Palpatine himself cursed the ring so that no one could remove it. Rey was happy to leave where it was.

Staring at the cruel face beneath the glass wasn’t what she’d imagined. She felt nothing. An emptiness. There was a lot to hate about him, and she was sure that she did hate him, but she was also over feeling like his name meant anything to her. Could define her. Before Hermione dragged her to the coffee shop this morning she hadn’t dwelled on it all that much. But today she was forced to think about it. To see it on the tombs surrounding her. To hear it on Solo’s tongue. To know the vitriol that accompanied the words when he shouted accusations at her just hours ago. But it wasn’t who she was, and she allowed herself to hope that Solo’s…professional, at the very least, behavior meant that he heard what she’d said. That she was nothing like him.

“Does everything come back to those runes, then?” She finally asked once they’d returned to the library.

“Yes,” he said, and the tense line of his shoulders told her he was annoyed. Though so did his clipped tone. “I think I need to get a copy of some of those Runology books those two were talking about. The basics usually get me through most assignments but I’m admittedly not a patient man. I’d rather be able to solve things on my own.”

“Perhaps you can take a correspondence course. Remedial Runes must exist somewhere.” Rey said, smiling to herself from his shadow. The great dragon’s wing unfurled behind her once she’d crested the stairs, concealing them once more. Eyes no longer hungry.

“Remedial?” He scoffed and ran a hand through his thick hair. For a moment she thought he might be handsome, with the sunlight casting his profile in shadow along the walls. “I’m average, at the very least.”

Rey chuckled. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.” She transfigured some of the rubble into a table and two chairs, draping her wool suit jacket on one of them. The sun was warm under the skylight. Then she sent a paper airplane note to Maz, asking for her to send something to eat. It was well past lunchtime, and though she wasn’t thrilled by Solo’s continued presence, she thought she should at least pretend to be a good hostess.

“Oh—sure, I could eat,” he said. And she noticed him trail a hand over the front of his jacket, as if he were petting his stomach. It was almost endearing.

They talked a bit more about the curse and similar curses he’d broken until a small spread of food arrived with a _pop_. Maz sent a note that she was heading to the village but she’d be back later on, if Rey needed anything else. Over little sandwiches and pastries her perpetually grumpy companion made attempts at small talk. Quidditch was easy — he’d played in school and kept up with an intramural team back in the States. They argued over their predictions for the World Cup. Now that Krum had retired, Bulgaria was a long shot in Rey’s opinion. He seemed to think that his country had a chance, which was laughable. They’d never made it past the semifinals. Britain practically invented Quidditch, she was quick to remind him.

When they’d exhausted that topic he complimented Maz’s cooking, and Rey obliged him with a few details about her nanny-turned-housekeeper. Though she was, to put it bluntly, ancient, she was still fiery. Quick on her feet and quick with her wit. Kind and caring. An excellent cook.She was from a small village near where her mother grew up and had helped raise the Niima family’s three children. One of whom died of Dragon Pox at a young age — a girl named Isabelle, Bella for short. Her uncle, Lorenzo, fatally splinched himself 30 years ago trying to apparate from Italy to Australia. They never found his legs.

“Sometimes I wonder if they’re strolling around Byron Bay, scaring muggles,” she said with a laugh. And she was grateful he didn’t ask about her mother. There wasn’t much to say about Helena Niima.

“You’d be surprised how many missing limbs the magical accidents department gets saddled with,” he said. “Though it’s usually arms or hands. Tricky to find the owner regardless.”

It was quiet for a moment, and Rey sipped at a glass of water.

“You live here,” he said. More a statement than a question.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. I sleep here, I suppose. I’m usually at work late during the week and weekends I try to get away when I can. Sometimes I go see my friend Rose in Glasgow—”

“If you hate it here why do you stay? What are you waiting for?”

She looked at him across the table. The stern line of his shoulders, posture straight. The long nose, like that of a Victorian bust. There was a sense of finery about him. Good breeding, some might say. As if he came from a line of nobility. A serious face. The cut of his suit suggested a muscular physique.

What _was_ she waiting for? It wasn’t as if there was anyone coming back. When she was a girl, she often thought about her parents coming home one day. Taking her on trips to Diagon Alley to buy her supplies for the school year, laughing together at Flourish and Blotts. Watching her practice her flying, cheering her on when she caught the charmed quaffle on her dad’s old Shooting Star. But they rarely spent time at the estate, preferring their own residences in London instead. She had one full, somewhat happy memory of her father. Just the one. Her memories of her mother were even more scarce. Limited to the letter she left for once she came of age and a single photograph of them together. Rey, a chubby toddler squirming on her prim mother’s stiff lap. The woman barely blinked. The only movement in the picture was from little Rey, tugging on the itchy dress she wore. Turning her chubby cheeks to smile up at a woman who didn’t even see her.

“Waiting for a raise so that I can afford to live in London,” she said, swallowing her pathetic history. “And if I could find a job for Maz first or maybe a big enough place…I can’t just sell the estate out from under her.”

“I’m not sure you could sell this place period,” he said, not unkindly. Almost as if he were teasing. The slight raise of his left brow seemed to say as much.

“Perhaps I could sell it for scraps. Let the scavengers at it.”

Solo switched from water to coffee, despite the late afternoon hour. His long fingers selected a chocolate biscuit from the plate at the center of the table and he dunked it into the black coffee.

“Whatever you decide to do, it’ll be on your own terms, I’m sure.”

Once they’d finished eating she vanished the plates and cups, sending them to the kitchens. They headed towards the doors. Rey held her wand, twirling it between her hands. Back and forth, forward and back. Fast then slow.

“I think it could be a while before we hear from them,” she said. “It’s nearing sunset and if I know Hermione she’s probably nose deep in about a dozen books while Draco pines from a corner. If you need to get back to wherever it is you’re staying—”

“I’m just at the Leaky Cauldron. Nothing too urgent there.”

She continued her nervous habit, feeling the smooth wood beneath her fingers. The carved handle comforting under her touch. “I find it hard to believe you wouldn’t call a tumbler of firewhiskey urgent, Solo.” Rey said, tossing him a real smile.

At first he started to return it with a crooked grin of his own but it faltered when his eyes followed the movement of her hands. Something slowly working its way into his features. Lips turning into a scowl.

“Where did you get that wand?” Solo snapped, taking a few steps towards her.

“It’s mine,” she said with a shrug, continuing her path to the door. Solo didn’t follow. She turned to face him, waiting.

He breathed heavily, broad shoulders rising and falling. “ _Where_ did you get it? Tell me!”

“Are you bloody joking? I’ve had this wand my entire life. It called to me!”

“Where did you get it?”

Rey took a measured step back. “When I was a girl, my father took me to choose a wand from the family collection. None of them felt right until this one. That meant it was mine. It’s been mine ever since.”

Solo pulled his red oak wand from his coat pocket and started to circle her. His voice was soft but ragged. “My grandfather had a blackthorn wand with a very distinct handle. I’ve seen his drawings of it. Talked to the wandmaker in Diagon Alley where he purchased it about it just last week. That’s _his_ wand you’re holding.”

Rey blinked at him, then looked at the wand in her hand. She’d assumed it belonged to some long dead Palpatine, like all the others.

“That wand,” he said, leveling his own in front of her chest, “it belongs to me.”

“What are you going to do, _curse_ me?” She sneered. The grip on her wand tightened and she began to sidestep, keeping her eyes locked on him while they circled each other.

“No, but I will take it from you.”

The nonverbal disarming spell nearly caught her off guard, but she’d produced her own shield charm while he was still talking.

“Really? Starting off a duel with a silent spell? Not very gentlemanly,” she taunted, snapping a trip jinx, which he avoided with practiced footwork. Almost like a dancer.

“I don’t see the point in _talking_ during a duel,” Solo grit out, barring his teeth while he slung several spells in quick succession, shattering her _protego._

His wandwork was controlled — elegant. If she wasn’t busy countering his spells she would have admired their beauty. Clean lines and smooth formations. Perhaps she’d pay him a complement that wasn’t just a rushed jelly legs jinx to buy her a few seconds to parry his attacks. Spells ricocheted off the empty bookshelves, blasting the cracked wood throughout the room.

She upended the table, crouching behind it to regroup for a moment. Sending a wave of wind to capture him in a cyclone. His coat twisted and tangled around him until he let out a grunt and countered the spell. In the few moments of respite he took off the jacket and pushed his sleeves up his forearms.

Rey sent a silent bat-bogey hex at his large nose but he waved it off, turning it into a flock of birds directed straight towards her. She transfigured them into blue butterflies that dissipated on the wind, leaving sparkling mist in their wake.

“Give me the wand, Niima,” he said, charging towards her. Red flames sparked from his wand. She drowned them in cool water and met him in the middle of the frayed room. They both panted, wands held high, eyes blazing.

“It’s _my_ wand,” she said again. This time when she whipped a trip jinx he stumbled, allowing her to hit him with a stunning spell. Just enough force to knock him back and away.

Solo looked up at her from where he lay sprawled on the floor, breath heavy, eyes menacing. The perfectly arranged hair he’d arrived with was disheveled, falling across his pale, damp face. There was something haunting about his expression as he let out a yell.

“Your _grandfather_ ,” he spat the word, “stole it from Anakin Skywalker, the greatest wizard—”

“ _I_ didn’t take anything!” She interrupted. “It was given to me it — it _chose_ me! It’s mine.”

In a fluid movement he was on his feet, slinging spell after spell at her until she faltered on the bits of broken stone throughout the library. Scrambling to find level ground while he rushed her, crowding her with his imposing frame and quick hits. The closer he got the harder it was to focus on her spellwork — if she sent too wide of a spell, it could rebound on herself. Solo didn’t seem to have those worries, lashing hexes throughout the room.

She yelled, parrying his attacks and casting shields to buy herself time. The skylight above them shattered at her voice, raining shards of glass over them. He held his arm up to block the pieces and she gathered them into the shape of a dragon, barreling down on him with an _oppugno_ jinx.

A piece from its tail cut a jagged line down his face while he forced out a shield charm, blasting back the rest of it. They clinked on the flagstones, leaving crystal dust in their wake.

Rey hurried to cast again but he was faster, a powerful _stupify_ sent her high into the air, smashing into the shelves with a scream. She cried out in pain when she hit the floor and sent a stunner back to him, nailing him in the side. He grunted, beating his ribs as if to dull the pain. Or harness it.

The room was crashing around them but she didn’t care. Let the house fall. As long as Maz was okay, the rest didn’t matter. She ran to the crouching dragon, clamoring onto its back to shoot spells from a higher vantage point. Their spells collided, rebounding off of each other and onto the walls. Smashing the marble of the mantle into pieces. Obliterating the mirror above it.

His spells were relentless — the very foundation beneath them shook. Small flames licked the edges of the room. She had to jump off of the dragon’s back to avoid a stinging jinx. They sent hexes and jinxes at each other, attacking without hesitation. The cut on his face was bleeding, blurring his vision. From behind a shield charm he dragged a hand down his face to remove some of the sweet and blood and dust.

With the great dragon behind her she put all of her might into her next attacks, hoping for a respite. They were both exhausted, but she pressed on — until he aimed for the massive stone body behind her, blasting it apart with a powerful _reducto_. The explosion threw her to the floor, her hands pressed into broken fragments, bleeding. The house shook violently. She could barely lift her torso to defend herself.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ He growled, and the force of the spell took her with it. Or maybe she was gripping her wand that tightly. With a cry she dragged across the ground, her side snagging on bits of rubble.

It happened in a fraction of a second. The wand ripped from her fingers.

With her hand outstretched she tried to pull the wand back towards her, using all of the magic she could feel thrumming in her veins from the minute he accused her of stealing it. Her forehead creased and her teeth clenched as she focused. For a moment the wand vibrated in the air between them, but his disarming spell was too strong — her wand broke free of her grasp and flew into his awaiting hand while she screamed. Her energy spent. Hands cut and bleeding. The heat of tears pricking her eyes.

After putting his own wand back in his pocket Solo used the Skywalker wand to bind her where she’d fallen. Not tightly — just enough to keep her restrained so that he could make his exit. She leaned against the broken pieces of the once mighty dragon. Its empty eyes staring up at her as she struggled with her binds. Rey could feel the bruises all over her body. What may well have been a cracked rib.

He took measured steps towards her, stopping a dozen feet away. But she kept her eyes on the symbol of her house — the twin dragons of Palpatine — demolished around her, the last of a once noble bloodline.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, speaking softly. She could feel the heat of his gaze settling over her. “You’re one hell of a witch.”

The echoes of his steps carried on the still humming air until she couldn’t hear them anymore. After a few moments, she heard the distant crack of apparition. The binds he’d cast disappeared as soon as he’d passed through the wards.

For minutes or hours she remained sunk to her knees. Waiting for the house to fall, though it held. As if it refused to budge until she brought it down on her own.

It was like being without a part of herself. She’d been alone all of her life but nothing felt as alone as this moment. Sitting on the floor of the crumbled house she hated. Wandless. She brushed the wetness from her cheeks, smearing dirt and blood and tears on the back of her hands and then her wool trousers.

Three soft taps at the window brought her out of her dazed state. Behind the purple dragon scales of the stained glass was a large, beautiful barn owl. With a note tied to its leg.

* * *

_Tap, tap, tap._

It was a soft sound but it tore Hermione’s attention.

“Do you hear that?” She’d said around his mouth, increasing in its demands. He pulled away enough to kiss down her neck, lingering at her collarbone while she sighed. Parchment crinkled beneath her where she sat on the table. Books pushed out of the way, some onto the floor.

“I’m choosing to ignore it,” he said against her skin. “Join me.”

For a moment her eyes fluttered and she gripped his shoulders tighter, pulled him closer where her legs had wrapped around his waist. Bringing his lips back to hers so she could drink him in. But then the tapping started again and she looked to the window.

“Your owl’s back!”

“And she knows she can fly in through the attic, she’s just seeking attention,” he said, trailing his fingers up her thighs, skimming beneath the silk of her dress.

“No, she has a reply, look!”

Begrudgingly he released her after one final nip to her skin. In long strides he approached the window and waved the glass away. Selene flew straight for Hermione, who shrieked, and held out a leg. Not a feather out of place, despite the breakneck pace she must have flown to get back here. How long had it been since they’d sent the letter? Hermione thought back. They’d sent the owl, and then she’d…and then they’d…Right.

She untied the note and flattened the paper. It was the same one she’d sent. On the back, written in what looked like soot, were two words: _Need help._ Something must have happened to Rey. She would have to leave. Now.

“What does it say?” Draco asked, stepping towards her. Hair askew, cheeks pink. Beautifully disheveled. It made her blush.

Hermione dropped the note and tightened the tie of her dress where it had come loose — been pulled lose by clever fingers. She tugged her boots back on. “I’m sorry — I have to go,” she said, sweeping her papers into her bag. Forever grateful for the — not strictly legal — expansion charm.

“What? Granger, you’re going to give me whiplash.”

She briefly forgot herself and said, “How do you even know what that is?”

When he shrugged she barreled down the stairs, hurrying for the door without her coat. She yanked it open, yelled a goodbye over her shoulder, and apparated from the front stoop without even checking for muggles. She hoped his notice-me-not charm and various wards helped to cover her.

Hermione arrived back in Stratford-upon-Avon frazzled. She was sure that the witches and wizards she passed in Prospero’s Way were looking at her, whispering “ _Is that her? Hermione Granger?_ ” Or maybe she looked so unlike herself that she blended in with the crowd. As she rushed down the cobblestone streets, nearly at a jog, her mind remained back in London. On strong hands and soft lips and the sinful dream of being pressed against bookshelves. She felt guilty for even thinking of it. Guilty for the brief feeling of regret that she had to leave.

The gate swung open, silently thanks to her quick repair work earlier, and Hermione walked quickly down the path to the front door. It was unlocked. With her mind in its current state, it took little effort to whisper, “ _Expecto Patronum_ ,” once she was inside and produce a full patronus.

The glowing otter bounced down the hall, lighting her way. She used her wand to clear as much of the debris in the hallways as she could. Smoothing away some of the years-old damage. She watched her step where she needed to — in the places where even a skilled witch like herself would need help to fix things. Soon she caught up to her patronus at the east wing, and Hermione knew that Rey must be in the ruins of the library. What she wasn’t prepared for was the recent destruction.

There was shattered glass strewn across the cracked stone floor. Chunks of wooden shelves and fragments of stone columns littered the space. The once mighty dragon beside the fireplace had been split open by a powerful blast. Hermione waved a few small fires out, leaving trails of smoke in their stead. There were signs of magic everywhere.

In the center of it all was Rey. She sat in the chaos. Little bloody cuts on her hands and a bruise blossoming on her jaw. Her expression like nothing Hermione has seen from the strong witch in almost six years of friendship. Broken.

“Are you all right?” Hermione asked as she approached, tentative.

“He took it,” Rey said, her voice a flat monotone.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked. Her friend’s hazel eyes were dull, her freckled skin ashen. “Took what?”

“My wand. It— turns out it had belonged to his grandfather. Sheev stole it a long time ago. But I didn’t know that, how could I? No one in my bloody family knew anything worth sharing with me. That wand…It’s my wand, Hermione. It called to me.” Her voice broke and she growled in frustration, wiping at her eyes.

Hermione thought for a moment, running over everything they’d learnt over the course of the day — what the runes had translated to, what she knew of Sheev Palpatine and Anakin Skywalker and Rey and her curse. Everything that she and Draco had spent hours researching. Hermione said, “That should have removed the curse. The runes said that if it was returned, then balance would be restored.”

Rey laughed bitterly. “Well I certainly don’t feel any different. Nothing happened when he took it. No sparks or anything. Didn’t feel anything in my _soul_ or whatever you’d expect to happen when a curse is broken.”

Hermione frowned. “I watched Solo cast his detection charms. I know it’s not my expertise. Never done it before…but maybe, if you want—”

“Go for it,” Rey said, closing her eyes with a huff. When she opened them they flicked to Hermione’s collarbone. The spot where Draco had been very attentive. She tugged her neckline, hoping to hide whatever evidence might be there. Rey didn’t say anything.

With a few twirls of her wand, Hermione began to recreate what she’d seen Solo do earlier that day. Her movements weren’t quite as elegant as his, but the spellwork was easy enough for her to grasp. Though her French was rusty, it was a clear incantation repeated exactly seven times. Soon the faint, hazy shimmer of runes appeared on Rey’s skin, fleeing into the air around them before they disappeared.

“Still cursed, it seems.” Rey said, stretching her arms toward the darkening sky. Her joints popped. “Renowned cursebreaker my arse. Bloody Americans and their sense of self-importance.”

Hermione chewed the corner of her lip. They were slightly swollen. Probably pinker than usual. Rey’s eyes snagged on her hair and she smiled.

“Is it windy outside?”

“What? No. I mean, yes. A bit. It’s autumn, after all.”

“Right. Hair just looks a bit more,” she gestured around her own head, “wild than usual. Like you were running your hands through it, maybe? Or more like pulling at it—”

Hermione did just that, attempting to tame it. “Yes, it’s a bad habit.”

Rey lead her from the ruins of the library back through the house to the front sitting room, sealing off the east wing as they went. Maz had just walked through the door, carrying a few shopping bags.

“Shall I send up some tea?” She said, and Rey nodded.

“I’ve got something stronger,” she added to Hermione, and pulled a flask from a side table drawer. Once they had their tea — and spiked it — Hermione asked again what had happened.

Rey took a long drink. “Well, he pulled his wand on me and we had a little duel.”

“I’d gathered that from the state of the library. Little seems an understatement, though.”

“He had the nerve to start with a silent spell, no warning, no ‘ _I challenge thee to a duel_!’ None of it. Just started right in.” She sighed and Hermione rubbed small circles on her back.

“I bet you gave him quite the fight,” she said.

“Wish I’d held out a bit longer,” Rey said with a sad smile. She tugged at her collar, ultimately deciding to unbutton her shirt a few buttons. “He wore me down and then he took his reward.”

“It’ll be okay, we can go to Ollivanders and get you a new wand tomorrow. And now that we know more about the curse maybe there’s a way around the runes. I’ll write to as many people as I need to. I’m sure someone out there knows something—”

“And I’m sure that the hate I feel for Ben Solo will fuel me for the rest of my life,” Rey spat. They were quiet for a moment. “I’m sorry, Hermione. You’re just trying to help.”

“I refuse to believe that you want to live this way. You say you don’t care but…” Hermione let her words fall. She cleared her throat. “We can fix this. It isn’t your fault. He’s angry, but you’re not the one he’s angry at.”

“Well, maybe not before but I did sort of cut him a bit.”

“You what?”

“Just a bit! Just down his stupid, arrogant face.”

Hermione sighed. “Well, regardless, he’s angry at your grandfather. At the past. If we can just talk to him again…I can send an owl to Draco and maybe we can all meet somewhere neutral. Somewhere you won’t be able to just—“

“Start fighting?”

“Yes, that.” Hermione said. They finished their tea and nibbled on biscuits. Her mind raced from fiery kisses to runes and curses and back. To ways she could convince Solo to help. Again. Then it was back to the pressure of Draco’s mouth on hers. The way his long fingers had glided up her leg, leaving a trail of goosebumps that had yet to pass.

“Thinking about something?” Rey asked over her cup.

“Just alternative ways to get Solo’s help. Or maybe we can write one of his colleagues. What was the other one’s name? Hugs?”

Rey laughed and looked out the window. It was starting to get dark. The sun would fully set within the next few minutes. She contemplated for a while, then spoke. “I bet Solo knows something he’s not saying. I wonder—No, he’s not going to just take my wand. He—”

Rey stood and walked briskly out of the room.

“Where are you going?” Hermione struggled to keep up with her long legs. “Rey?”

She entered one of the closed doors across from their sitting room, revealing a small study decorated in more dark woods and deep purple. There were a few dusty shelves of books but it was fairly empty. A large desk with a wooden, swiveling chair behind it. Cabinetry build into the walls. Ornate silver handles on their doors. Rey walked purposefully over to one and pricked her finger on its sharp end.

“Is that another blood seal? Rey!”

“Hermione, shush. And yes, I told you they’re all over the house.” Rey opened the cabinet to reveal a vast collection of wands. They were all sorts of lengths and woods. Probably different cores, too. They rested on thin hooks, as if floating against the purple velvet behind them. Rey scanned them briefly and snatched a fairly ordinary looking maple wand. “Thank you for coming. For leaving right when you were…I’m sorry for interrupting it. And I’m sorry for this,” she said, and with the turn of her heel, she apparated.

“Of course,” Hermione grumbled. The blood wards prevented others from apparating in and out, but Rey could come and go as she pleased. She had no way of knowing where her friend had gone. But she thought about the last thing she’d said, before racing to the cabinet of wands. Rey believed that Solo knew something else. Something he hadn’t said. At this point her lip was getting too much anxious attention and she forced herself to shake her head clear. Draco would know where Solo was staying, if that was indeed where Rey was headed.

But she’d left his townhouse so abruptly. Pulling from his gentle grasp and practically running for the door. What if he’d thought she wasn’t interested? Hadn’t she made it clear with her own hands? Her own kisses and caresses? But he’d smiled at her, in the end. When she’d turned and breathlessly said goodbye. Taking one last fleeting look at his simmering grey eyes.

With her remaining bit of Gryffindor courage she smoothed her hopelessly wrinkled dress, cast a disillusionment charm on herself, and walked to the edge of the property, apparating back to London on a cold wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used to think action scenes were hard to write and then I wrote a wizard duel. Now I need a bottle of wine.
> 
> The Niima family are Italian in this universe. Isabelle aka Bella is a reference to one of the funniest lines in all of Twilight. 
> 
> Ben’s wand is [red oak](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Red_oak) with a [unicorn hair](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Unicorn_hair) core, 15” (remember in chapter 2 when I made a joke about how it’s the longest wand she’s ever seen lol)  
> I chose this combination for Ben because he’s a controlled and elegant fighter. Ollivander describes this kind of wand as a perfect dueling wand, suitable for someone with quick reactions. Unicorn hair produces consistent magic.
> 
> Rey’s wand, which was Anakin Skywalker’s, will remain a mystery for a bit longer. 
> 
> One last little thing from the duel: Yes Rey was a Slytherin at Hogwarts — cunning, resourceful. And Ben was a Horned Serpent at Ilvermorny — fkn nerds. (The author is both of these houses and yes, a fkn nerd.)
> 
> And as one final note/self drag, I had to look up how to spell Gryffindor. Like a true Slytherin I guess??
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Hope you liked this chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said, without a glance. Without so much as a flinch. Pen continuing to drag over the pages. He wrote in script, like calligraphy was worth the time to learn. What a pompous git._

Hermione stood on the third step, counting her breaths. There was no reason to wait to climb the rest of them but she hesitated. Willing her stubborn heartbeat to slow. So of course it beat faster as she closed the gap and seized the silver door knocker.

She’d barely finished knocking when the black door swung open.

“Oh good, back at last,” Draco said, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as he looked down at her with a haughty brow. “We have unfinished business, Granger.”

She flushed at the way he looked over her and quickly apologized for running out, rambling her way into embarrassment. He stepped aside to let her in. The smell of something autumnal and savory wafted from the rear of the house. It was then that she noticed his sleeves were pushed up and he wore a simple apron over his fine clothes. The normalcy distracted her.

“Were you—do you cook?”

“As it turns out, one needs to learn basic skills in order to function in society,” he said, turning to walk down the narrow hallway to the kitchen. She rushed to follow.

“I’m surprised you don’t employ house elves.”

“Twilly comes by a few times a week to tidy. Sometimes she leaves meals but I mostly look after myself. Does that surprise you?” It didn’t surprise her that he employed an elf. She knew that already. Knew he paid her handsomely. Her department had Twilly’s contract on file, with the elf’s signature in pink ink. His in deepest emerald. With looping curls at the end of his name. Not that she’d looked at it.

Draco had multiple pots on the hob, wooden spoons stirring things on their own. It smelled heavenly, and she remembered that she hadn’t eaten in a few hours. Dishes in the sink washed themselves. It was an efficient wizarding kitchen. Hermione still did most things the muggle way. Letting her coffee cups stack in the sink days longer than was hygienic. Takeaway containers filled her refrigerator and stale biscuits lined the cupboards.

“You always did like to be in charge of group projects. I suppose it shouldn’t,” she replied. “What is all this?”

“Wishful thinking, I believe it’s called.” He slung a tea towel over a shoulder and set the small kitchen table with a wave of his wand. A lit candelabra in the center, goblin wrought. A crystal decanter of dark wine. Place settings for two. “Since you had to run off—” she started to apologize again but he spoke over her. “—in the middle of some of my best work, might I add, I figured displaying my fine cooking skills was worth a shot in case you came back feeling guilty for leaving me all alone. And I was right to assume because here you are, Granger. So. Have dinner with me.”

“What?” She sputtered.

“You sit there,” he pointed, “I sit there. We talk. You compliment my delicious food and prattle on about work and whatever books you’re reading while I make eyes at you across the table.”

Hermione felt the blush bloom from her neck. It was tempting. Like peeking ahead in a particularly good story. Just to see. Forgetting everything else. But she thought of Rey’s face when she’d told her about her wand. Of the way that she seemed so resigned to her fate when it was clear the curse still clung to her.

“It’s a nice offer and I want to, but—” He sighed and turned the stove off with a flick of his wand. Cleared the table of everything but the wine, which he set to pour into a large goblet now held in his hand. “I do! Draco, I really do. And we can. But first we have to—”

“First, it is nearly eight. A time when most have eaten supper. I know your eating habits are abysmal but whatever you think we have to—”

“Ben took Rey’s wand.”

Draco frowned. “He what?”

“Rey’s wand—it belonged to Anakin Skywalker. Her grandfather— that was what he stole. And Ben dueled her for it. Took the wand back. It should have broken the curse. THat’s what the runes said: _When the forgotten is returned to my family from yours—”_

“ _Only then will balance return_ ,” he finished. “Wait—should have broken it?”

Hermione wrung her hands to avoid biting her lip and nodded. “I checked myself. Rey’s runes were still there, she’s still cursed. Something is missing. I missed something. I know I did.”

For a few minutes he was quiet. Thinking and tasting the various dishes he was preparing, the flames back on. Adding salt and herbs and adjusting the heat.

“Granger, you worked on it for hours. Double checked everything. It was right. There must be something else required to break it. Maybe Solo knows something—”

“But what if I missed something in the translation?”

Draco ran a hand over his face and laughed. “Zélie du Barry herself could pop out of the floo and tell you you’ve already gotten it and you wouldn’t believe her.”

That was it. Professor Babbling would have chastised her.

“du Barry! Of course — Draco, you’re brilliant,” Hermione said, pressing a quick kiss on his cheek. She turned out of the kitchen and raced up the stairs to the library. A low fire crackled in the grate. The table had been cleared and the books from earlier were put away. She faced the shelves with all of the books on runes and summoned a few of the ones she’d had taken out this afternoon. _Spellman’s Syllabary_ and the _Rune Dictionary_. A few Celtic volumes. Levitating them back to the table while she began to look.

“You’re muttering to yourself, Granger.”

She jumped from where she was fingering the spines of Germanic texts. “I wasn’t…Fine, I was.”

“If you tell me what you’re looking for I might be able to find it—”

“I can’t remember what it’s called I just know it’s a little book…Or at least, the copy at Hogwarts was small. Like a diary. I used it for an essay on du Barry in sixth year. She talked a lot about different translations and…” she trailed off, focused on reading every title in front of her until something jumped out. Or until her eyes ceased to function. She’d stay in this room until she had an answer for Rey.

They both scanned the shelves of rune books, her flipping through anything that looked familiar, him holding up various titles for her to assess. None of them were the book she was looking for. The clock on the mantle ticked, the wood of the fire snapped, and Selene let out a few soft hoots until Draco fed her treats from a glass jar on the mantle. Hermione’s back began to ache from squatting down to check the lower shelves. Eventually she just flopped onto the floor and pulled her shoes off.

They’d been through hundreds of titles before, wedged between two larger ones, she found a small, old book. At first glance anyone would have missed it. Bound in dark leather, tucked on the bottom shelf. Obscured. Its title was worn: _sur les couples runiques._ Hogwarts had a translation. _The notebook of Zélie du Barry_ it was called. Of course Malfoy had the original French. She wouldn’t be surprised if it was du Barry’s handwritten copy, signed and everything. She was mildly disappointed that it wasn’t.

With a crack from her hip, she pulled herself up from the floor and hovered over the table. Absently opening the dictionaries scattered on the surface. She flipped through the little notebook, searching for something she’d read a long time ago. Under the dim lights of her favorite table at the back of the library. It was a clever bit of magic. Thoughtful and memorable. At last she found it and gasped. When she turned, Draco gripped one of the chairs beside her.

“The forgive and forget dyad,” she said, grinning at him. When he only stared back she sighed and placed the book in front of him, conjuring some parchment, ink, and a quill. She quickly rewrote the line they had translated. It was wrong.

“Look here. This first part is a rune pairing. I can’t believe I missed it. Du Barry discovered it and called it the forgive and forget dyad. It’s often mistranslated.” She looked up at him, squinting at the text and mentally cursing her rusty French. He plucked the book from beneath her hands and read the page, translating for her as he went.

“According to du Barry the only way to truly move past something is forgiveness before forgetting. When the two runes combine—”

“The meaning changes! And if that’s how we’re meant to interpret the start of the translation I think there’s another mistake here, too.” She flicked her wand, summoning one of the texts she’d read earlier. The notebook of an Irish wizard, a former professor of runes at Hogwarts several hundred years ago. She read for a while, searching through the text. One of her hands tapped the quill against a piece of parchment. Leaving little ink blots. With a featherlight touch Draco drew a simple rune on the back of her hand. _Kenaz_. The torch. A beacon. For knowledge and creativity. For passion. That was it — she reached for their original translation. She stretched over the table to better see all of the pages before her.

“Right here—after the forgive and forget dyad. This second symbol is an old Celtic rune that,” she dragged the Irish book closer, “when translated simply, like we did before, just means to return. And that would normally make sense. However, according to Horan,” she tapped the page, “the actual translation is about the _intent_. Not just returning something that was lost. It is more accurately translated as ‘freely given’ — Draco, because of these mistranslations, the whole line changes! It changes the meaning entirely.”

He snatched the quill from her and beneath her hastily scribbled line wrote in an elegant hand:

> _When forgiveness is freely given from my family to yours, only then will balance return._

For a moment they both stared at the words and she beamed at him. Ready to throw herself in his arms once more, chase the warmth that had yet to fade from beneath her skin. Instead he may as well have tossed ice water over her.

“So he has to forgive her on his own then,” Draco said. “It’s not a matter of him having the wand back. He has to forgive her for it. For Palpatine’s actions.”

“Do you think it means for the wand or for…what happened to his grandmother?”

“Likely both. It was a heavy curse.”

“Can’t imagine he’ll be amenable,” Hermione said. She put her hands on her hips and sighed. “He just dueled her and stole her wand. Practically pulled the house down on top of her.”

Draco contemplated for a moment. “We shouldn’t interfere further. It’s not our place.”

“What?” She whipped her head towards him. “How can you say that? We have to help! Rey took off — probably to confront him about it. If you know where he’s staying—the longer we wait the more likely it is that they’ll duel again and—”

“You may know Rey but I know Solo. If he got the wand, he won’t attack her again. If anything he’s drowning his sorrows with a bottle of Ogden’s right now because he had to fight a pretty witch.”

“I think we should at least try to explain.” Hermione grimaced. “Maybe he’ll change his mind someday and forgive her once he’s, I don’t know, sat with the information. But we can’t know if we don’t tell them.”

He nodded and closed a few of the books, sending them back to their shelves. Tidying the room without looking at her. “It’s late. We can tell them in the morning. I’ll send Selene out with a place to meet. Someplace public. With witnesses.” He strode from the library and back down the stairs, Hermione close behind him. He’d removed the apron before they’d come up to the library. He wore a charcoal jumper, probably the finest cashmere, though it looked old and worn. Like one he’d had when they were in school. When they reached the bottom of the stairs she swallowed. The clock chimed ten.

“Right. Okay,” she stammered. “So I’ll just…be going then.” Only she left her shoes upstairs. Perhaps she didn’t need them after all. She could apparate without them. Shoes weren’t that necessary. She’d already left her coat here, what was one more article of clothing?

Draco held her in place with his gaze, and she felt it in the way her heart stuttered. The tingle at the top of her spine. Like she was sixteen, sitting at the back of the library, with grey eyes watching her.

“If you leave I’m not sure I’d survive another ten years of this, Hermione.” He said quietly.

Her pulse throbbed. She breathed through her nose. “Ten years of what?”

“Moments in the lifts and hallways at the Ministry. Rushed conversations at galas…Taking what I can get. Waiting for you to get the hint.”

She opened her mouth to argue that, actually, _he_ was the one who should have said something years ago then stopped herself. There was a change to his features, delicate where she was used to seeing angles and sharp edges. She’d thought she was the one hoarding breadcrumbs, hoping they led somewhere. For a lot longer than she’d ever admitted to herself. Seeing him in front of her with a worn jumper and striped socks, open expression, a lovely meal abandoned in the kitchen — she felt clarity for the first time in years. And she knew then what she wanted. What she’d maybe always wanted. She’d just been too afraid to take the steps.

With her chin up and her head high, she closed the distance between them, rising up on her toes to kiss him deeply. Before she lost herself in it she pulled away and said, “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

* * *

Rey landed in Diagon Alley and stuffed the maple wand in her pocket. With a quick glance in a shop window, she smoothed a hand over her dirty hair then took the wand back out to cast a cleaning spell over herself. Couldn’t look too feral. Though she didn’t bother to heal the little cuts and bruises. Let him see them, she thought.

To her right, a couple and their two young children carried parcels and a large birdcage with a snowy owl inside. Chattering about a sibling away at Hogwarts. Groups of shoppers and wizarding tourists passed her as she wound her way towards the Leaky Cauldron. The heavy oak door shut behind her and she looked around at the Saturday crowd. A few goblins in the corner drinking gillywater. Couples on first and second dates, not quite interested in each other enough to go someplace nicer. And there, sitting at the end of the bar, was Ben Solo.

A large hand gripped a tumbler of firewhiskey, setting it back down to scribble in his leather journal with his flashy muggle pen. Rey took a calming breath. It wouldn’t do to hex him — there were several enchantments on the establishment to prevent duels of the magical kind, though one could still throw a punch. It’s been a while since she’d been in a scrap. Perhaps she’d add a black eye to his collection of bruises from her. And even if she wanted to hex him — which she did — and were she able to — which she wasn’t — the maple wand was amenable to travel but she doubted it would be a good wand for a fight. Especially for someone like her, itching for it.

Solo finished his glass and inclined his head to Tom, the bartender, who refilled the drink. The cut she’d given him had faded to a pink scar. He must have mended it himself, but without any dittany placed in the wound the flesh would remain scarred. Menacing and intriguing down his handsome face. She’d stalled enough. The seat next to him was empty — as if no one wanted to sit next to the large, scowling man. So she slipped into it and waited for him to look at her.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He said, without a glance. Without so much as a flinch. Pen continuing to drag over the pages. He wrote in script, like calligraphy was worth the time to learn. What a pompous git.

“You owe me an apology,” Rey replied calmly. Then she ordered a pint of butterbeer and took a long pull on the sweet beverage. It had been hours since she’d eaten and anything stronger would have gone right to her head. This kept her hands busy and her mind clear. She intended to stay level and reasonable.

Solo tilted his chin towards her. “ _I_ owe _you_ an apology?” He scoffed. “That’s rich, Niima.”

“You could have leveled my entire house, I’d say that alone warrants one.”

He laughed darkly and took another swig of whiskey. Ogden’s, by the look of it. She could smell the rich, smoky liquor from her seat. “It would have done you a favor if I did. You said yourself you fucking hate it there.”

“Doesn’t mean I appreciate someone charging in and forcing me into a duel—”

“I didn’t force you,” he said, facing her fully. Looking down his noble nose at her. “You participated willingly — and aggressively, I might add. All you had to do was give me my wand and I would have left quietly. I may have cast the first spell but you certainly started it.”

The leather of her stool squeaked under her. She turned in her seat and squared her jaw. How childish, she thought. _You started it_. She bit back venom. Reminding herself that she intended to remain calm. “It’s not yours, it’s mine. It’s been mine for more than half my life. I want it back.”

“No.”

“Give it to me.”

With another huff that could have been a laugh or a scoff or perhaps he just breathed that loudly, he said, “I don’t have it here. And even if I did, it’s not yours. Not anymore.”

She fumed at him, squeezing her hands into fists on the worn bar top. However she wanted the conversation to go was irrelevant — he was a stubborn fuck.

“Tom,” he called to the hunched bartender. “A glass of Ogden’s for the lady.” She started to protest as he pulled a coin purse from his suit coat and laid a few coins down. “It will help settle your nerves before you go home.”

“I don’t—”

“And I don’t care.” He snatched his journal and pen, swigged the dregs of his whiskey, and walked purposely for the stairs to the inn at the back.

She counted his sickles and determined that he’d left enough to cover her barely touched butterbeer as well. With a shake of her head she knocked back the whiskey in one go, feeling it burn down her throat. It would have been better to savor it. Sipping at the expensive liquor. The smart thing would be to put a few extra sickles down as a large gratuity and head home. Perhaps stop for some chips and a bottle of wine. But she couldn’t get over the way he’d dismissed her. Like she was nothing.

After a beat she threw her money down, apologized to Tom, and raced to follow Solo up the stairs, sprinting like she hadn’t in years. He noticed her on the third floor landing, flicking his eyes over his shoulder. They seemed to widen. Good, he should be scared. She moved faster.

The second room on the left opened under his touch and before he could lock the door she pushed her way into his room.

“What is your bloody problem?” She yelled, grateful for the silencing charms over the rooms.

“What’s _my_ problem? You’re the one following me. Seems like you’re the one with a problem.”

“Because you left in the middle of a conversation!”

“I wouldn’t call being berated at a bar having a conversation but perhaps you Brits do things differently.”

Rey pressed her ragged fingernails into her palms to stop herself from shoving him. “If we did things my way you’d be on the floor and I’d have my wand back.”

Solo scoffed and crossed his arms, watching her. “Maybe I’d consider it if you asked nicely. But we both know you’re not capable of that.”

“You don’t know me—”

“Perhaps not but I know your make.”

“And what does that even mean?” She asked. There was a single suitcase in the small room. A double bed. A desk. Solo removed his suit jacket and draped it over the desk chair. He wore a black button up shirt beneath it, no tie.

“We’re not that different,” he said, and unbuttoned the top buttons, stretching his neck from side to side. He slipped off his shoes and kicked them against the wall.

She laughed, a sharp rejection of his statement. “No, you’re standoffish and—”

“Excuse me for not conversing easily with strangers.”

“Round here we call that being an arsehole,” Rey said. “Your excuse is flimsy at best.”

“I meant what I said, you know.” She didn’t, so she glared at him until he continued. “You were—You put up a hell of a fight. Auror?”

Rey laughed again. “No, I’m not a wizard cop. I work in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. House Elf Relations, specifically.”

“Someone with your abilities is wasted behind a desk.”

“Just because I’m not getting into daily duels doesn’t mean my job is boring.”

“Yes, I’m sure you see a lot of action doing…whatever it is you do.”

“Don’t act like you’re better than me just because you get to use your defensive spells and show off your curse breaking aptitude. I’ll have you know that I’m in the field often enough and can handle myself just fine,” she said. The room felt cramped, with him standing tall in the center.

“I never said I was better than you—“

“You’ve made it quite clear that you were the winner of the duel and that my job is beneath yours. I may as well be nothing to you,” she bit out. Her jaw was tight from clenching her teeth. Her skin burned with rage.

“I said your abilities were wasted if you were stuck behind a desk, that’s hardly the same thing,” Solo said, as if it was obvious. “Your spellwork is intuitive. You’re quick on your feet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that thing you did, sending a dragon at my face.” His lips quirked, and it stretched the new scar on his cheek.

“Reckon I’ll have bruises from you for quite a while,” she said.

“I’m sorry for that.”

“No you’re not. You got what you wanted, in the end.”

“Just because I got what was mine doesn’t mean I approve of the means. I didn’t go to your house ready for a fight, I went to help you.”

Rey looked away from him, not that there was much else to look at. There were no paintings or portraits on the walls. The window faced the alley. “I thought you were some hot shot curse breaker and you couldn’t even break my stupid curse.”

“Can’t win them all. And it’s not like you care either way.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You obviously don’t believe in love. Don’t desire partnership or passion. If you did, you’d try harder to solve it. Instead you stay in your dark house, working at your mundane job—”

“As if you have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“I do. And that scares you. How similar we are. And how attractive that is.”

It hit her like a cold wind. “I’m not like you,” she hissed, hands in tight fists. Flinching for a wand that wasn’t there.

Solo chuckled darkly and looked to the window before snapping his eyes back to her like a predator. “Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You’re impulsive,” he held up a finger, “you don’t keep many friends and the ones you do have you keep at arms length. Only one night stands for the girl who can’t love. A fight gets your blood pumping. I bet it even gets you off.”

“In your dreams—”

“Oh, I think in this very room — you’re the one who came to find me. You’re the one who pushed. You followed me up here and into my room. Were you looking for something?” His voice was heady and his consonants rumbled.

“You ran off, I merely followed you.” She stepped closer, conscious of her heaving breaths. Trying to breathe slowly through her nose. “I came for my wand. That’s all.”

“Maybe you don’t _want_ to break the curse until you’ve met someone worth breaking it for. Someone,” he wet his lips, “worth the fight.”

Rey’s heart squeezed. That wasn’t — she didn’t — who did he think he was?

“What makes you assume—”

“You’re too proud to admit no one’s ever challenged you before,” he let his words hover in the air between them. “And I’m too proud to admit that I don’t care what your name is.”

“I’m too proud? From the moment we met your arrogance and selfishness marked you as the last wizard in the world I would ever consider falling in love with.”

There were centimeters between their faces — he breathed down at her, eyes narrowed. She tilted her chin, ready to cut deeper, but hesitated, sucking in the warm air of the small room.

Before she was sure what was happening, he kissed her. And for a brief moment she kissed him back. Could taste the whiskey.

She pulled her mouth away and took a shaky breath. “What are you doing?”

“Giving into our crackling chemistry,” he stroked her jaw with his thumb, eyes trailing over her face. “Don’t you feel it too?”

This time she jerked her face out of his grip, letting his fingers ghost over her skin. She meant to turn away. To step out of his orbit. But it was always her first instinct to fight back. So she fisted his shirt and pulled him down to her.

“No,” she said, capturing his lips once more. They were full and soft and responded with a decadent pressure. Opening her to him.

She usually avoided kissing, when she went home with a wizard. They never came to hers. Kissing was intimate and she didn’t want to give them any false impression about what she wanted from them after that night. She’d tilt her neck so that their attentions were elsewhere. Move their hands where she wanted them. Turn so that she didn’t have to look at them. But kissing Ben wasn’t like kissing a random bloke she met after work. He was attentive and insistent and she found that she was starving.

With a groan he pulled away to look at her and they both caught their breath. His eyes were like the forest at twilight — brown, swirled with flecks of green only visible if you were close. She’d thought them dark and angry before. Now they were shining, curiously bright. He leaned in again and brushed his tongue against hers. If she was starving, he was a glutton — taking everything he could from each sigh and moan that escaped her. One of his hands wound into her hair and the other grabbed a handful of her rear, kneading it.

The door rattled against her back. Her tweed suit coat pushed from her shoulders to pool at her feet. She kicked it aside and pulled at his own jacket until he removed it. They consumed each other, ravenous and without shame. When she sunk her teeth into his plush lower lip he ripped at her buttons, raining them down and exposing her skin in a few deft movements. Ruining her favorite shirt. He was infuriating. He was exhilarating.

The freckles on her chest drew his eye and he ducked his head to suck on the blue lace of her bra. She took advantage of the moment to card her fingers through his dark hair. It was as thick and soft as she thought it would be. His mouth traced a path over the thin fabric to breathe hot air over her nipple, making her shiver before he sucked it.

His shirt buttons strained against his broad chest and she liberated him of it, bringing his attention back to her. Reattaching his lips to hers while she worked on his belt. It was fine leather. The buckle clattered to the floor and he shoved his trousers off, stepping out of them and shoving them with a foot.

When he kneeled to unbutton her trousers she almost snickered at the sight of him bowing before her. Leaving light kisses on her stomach as he did so. He helped her step out of her trousers, pupils wide as they faced her lace undergarments. She yanked him back up to her level and commanded their kiss once more. When he lifted her she yelped and wrapped her legs around his middle, feeling the hardness between them.

“Fuck,” she breathed, and pulled sharply at his hair.

“Ow,” he jerked his head to the side but she held firm. “Easy—”

“No, I don’t think so.” And she bit hard on his lip.

In retaliation he pressed firmly against her core, dragging his finger over the lace and teasing her. “How about now?” He said, toying with the waistband. Playing with his food.

“No,” she said again, clutching him tighter with her legs. When he didn’t move, she snaked a hand between them and touched him. “I’ve never liked easy.”

He slipped his fingers into her underwear and pressed circles against her. “Neither do I.”

They stumbled to the bed, and he braced their fall with a steady hand. She pushed on his chest so that he lay back on his elbows, then she stood and rid herself of her final layers. Looking down at him while removing his trunks and taking in the sight of him before her.

Rey always liked being in charge — she was captain of the Slytherin quidditch team for three years, the youngest captain in decades. When she was given a project at work she took the lead. And when it came to the man before her, she wanted to remind him that though he may have bested her in a fight, she would ruin him here.

His eyes had darkened, watching her climb onto the bed, crawling towards him, straddling his muscular legs. He was enormous in her hand, and she gave a few experimental pumps, eliciting a gasp that felt like the first note in a song she was dying to hear. And then she licked the length of him, swirling her tongue at the tip. Reveling in the sounds he made when she took him into her mouth. The moans of encouragement. The pressure from his fingertips at her scalp. The whispered, _yes_ , when she tilted back to take him deeper. Knowing that she’d won. It was intoxicating.

With a yank on her hair he pulled her upwards, bracketing her knees at his hips. Hard cock bumping against her as he surged forward to claim her mouth. When she was dizzy with it he flipped her onto her back, splaying one hand across her stomach and opening her knees with the other.

“You’re talented,” he said, pressing a kiss on her inner thigh. Sucking bruises into the pale skin there. Her breath escaped, catching just as it left her lips. When she lifted her head to meet his eyes they were already on her, stayed on her as he moved closer. Nipping at the flesh with sharp teeth. He looked down once before burning her with his gaze again. “But so am I.” And licked a hot stripe down her center.

He pressed her into the bed and looped his other arm around her leg, bringing her closer as he worked her. Alternating gentle kisses and firm laves with his tongue. There was nothing shy about his technique, and when his nose rubbed just so she purred and brought a hand to her breasts, desperate for more friction. She reached for him with the other.

“Not yet,” he rasped, and her arms were pulled above her head with his magic, stuck to the headboard. She tried to move against it but it held. The current beneath her skin intensified, buzzing down her legs, tingling at her toes, stretching up her torso and fluttering behind her eyes. She used her leg to hold him closer, pressing against his back with her calf and ankle.

The kisses and licks turned into sucking and humming and she couldn’t move her arms, couldn’t grip his head in place or do anything over than spew nonsense while he brought her right to the edge. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of begging but she was so close she could scream. He must have sensed it because he finally pressed a finger inside of her, rubbing deep against her walls while his tongue drew shapes and pulled her into his mouth. Touching her just so—

The scream clawed its way out of her throat, clicking at the end, stuttering into a series of whines and whimpers. Her hips rose and he held her against his face until she came down from her climax, panting. Lazy pumps from his fingers paired with more love bites at her thighs and soft kisses across her stomach, up to her tightened breasts.

“Should I give you your hands back?” He whispered across her chest, swirling his fingers inside of her, keeping her in the delicious purgatory that was the waiting place between one orgasm and the promise of another. Teasing her. Again.

“If you don’t release me I’ll hex your bloody perfect cock off,” she snarled, and he laughed before taking her mouth again. Letting her taste herself for an instant before releasing her invisible bonds. She latched onto his neck, his shoulder, the spot just below his ears. Dragged her short nails across his back. Gripped his arms, his waist, his jaw.

She mourned the loss of his fingers for a few seconds before he pressed into her, torturously slowly. His body easily covered hers, their chests pressed together. As he rocked into her, more gently than she expected, he locked eyes with her. Sharing her breath. Kissing her sweetly. His nose brushed hers and he whispered, “You’re beautiful.”

He increased the pace, rocking in and out, dragging out their shared pleasure. It took most of her strength to try to flip them but he sensed her need and brought his hands to her hips, pulling her on top of him, letting her roll against him. She tossed her hair over a shoulder and leaned forward, bracing her forearm on his chest. He kissed her sloppily and caught the sweat from her back when he pressed the base of her spine closer to him, helping her keep a rhythm.

All the while he whispered endearments — about her hazel eyes and speckled skin, her perfect little tits and long legs and sharp tongue. A few moans had her core tightening and she angled herself backward, pressing closer where they were joined. Soon she couldn’t keep the tempo, she was too close — he took over, pounding her into the mattress. Looping his arm under her knee, pressing it towards her chest. Hitting deeper. Lacing their fingers together. Swallowing her sighs and coaxing her with his hips. Strumming at her clit with clever movements.

She started to climb higher, sparks in her vision, when he said against her neck, “Knew it would be like this. Knew how well we’d fit.” She gasped and felt his thrusts grow more erratic. “Wanted you — Rey—”

She fell over the edge, down, down, down, until he came with her, his breath shaky against her cheek. They shared lazy kisses and he muttered the cleaning and contraceptive spells, like a gentleman. Kissing her again and tucking her against his side. Tracing her skin with sensual caresses. Like he cared.

“Christ,” he said, the muggle curse catching her by surprise. “None of my other duels end like that.” He chuckled, the sound rumbling through her, and she caught a boyish grin on his face. Crooked teeth and dimples. Hair stuck to his forehead, shining with sweat. He kissed her hair. She swallowed and looked at the ceiling. Thinking. Avoiding thinking. Minutes or hours just staring at the flat white paint above her.

When his breathing had slowed, she untangled herself from his heavy arm, letting it fall to the mattress. He shifted, but remained asleep. Deep, even breaths. Like it had been a while since he’d slept. It took her a few minutes to find all of her clothes and redress. To fix the broken buttons of her blouse and slip on her coat. There was no point in staying the night. There never was. Staying the night implied that you cared enough to want to see the other person in the light of day. And she had already done that with Ben Solo. He’d fought her under the sun. She’d leave under the moon.

He looked younger in sleep. Vulnerable, even, with his mussed hair and the duvet pulled halfway up his long, muscled torso. As if tugged by a string or lulled by music, she took little steps closer, until she stood over him. Watching him breathe. Counting the marks on his face, scattered like stars. Memorizing the slope of his nose and the curve of his cheek.

With a gentle touch she brushed his hair away from his eyes, across the scar she gave him, before she slipped out of the room, down the stairs, and into the black night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tricked you with the POV order 😉 Thank you so much for reading! Would love to know what you think.
> 
> Some notes...
> 
> If you’re interested in the Elder Futhark runes, I found this [website](http://www.sunnyway.com/runes/meanings.html) to be very helpful! 
> 
> _sur les couples runiques_ translates to On Runic Pairs.
> 
> Zélie is a French name I like and du Barry is named for Madame du Barry, who was very interesting (read: [badass](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madame_du_Barry)).
> 
> The Irish wizard isn’t _not_ named for Niall Horan.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Her mind showed her blackthorn wand soaring through the air, landing in Ben Solo’s hand. Over and over. Across the destroyed library. In between that memory was the flash of a crooked smile. The stroke of a thumb down her spine. The delicious pleasure she chased. ___

Two oversized mugs floated over to the marble kitchen counter. Draco magicked the coffee to pour while he busied himself collecting the sugar bowl and spoons and pouring milk into a small pitcher. Flitting about the kitchen in his striped pajama bottoms and a thin jumper. Hermione sat at the table and watched him go about his routine, opening drawers and cupboards. Hair askew. She was in need of caffeine but she didn’t want to get in the way when he was like this — determined with just a hint of neuroses. It looked good on him.

“Sorry it’s not pumpkin spice,” he said, setting the mug in front of her and passing the sugar. She added two spoonfuls and gave it a stir, breathing in the sweet tendrils of steam before splashing some milk in.

“Hmm I suppose I’ll have to make do,” Hermione replied with a coy smile as she brought it to her lips. It was rich and had notes of cinnamon and honey. “Actually, I have something for you.”

She summoned her bag and pulled out a slim package tied with ribbon.

“Granger, you don’t have to give me gifts for my services, you know.” When he opened the box he grinned at her, and popped a caramel into his mouth.“Can’t believe you remembered.”

“Don’t eat them all in one go or you’ll rot your teeth,” she said as he ate another.

He let out a long sigh and put them in a cupboard. “Fine.” The slope of his shoulders was relaxed, and there was a wry twist to his lips while he drank his coffee. No sugar or milk. It made the secret sweet tooth he had all the more endearing to her. She realized she was staring at him.

“Shall I continue to demonstrate my value to you and cook an impressive breakfast or was last night enough to win you over?”

Draco crossed his arms and leaned against the counter, waiting for an answer with a quizzical brow. She rolled her eyes. “There’s no need to give me gifts for my services, Malfoy. To be honest I rarely eat breakfast.”

“And that’s why you’re always in such a foul mood in the mornings when I see you at the lifts.”

“I’m hardly ever in a foul mood! You’re being ridiculous.”

“You always glare at me and stare at your shoes,” he prowled towards her, trailing a hand over the back of her chair. “Like you’re going to burn my robes.”

“That’s a special look I reserve just for you.”

“Is it now?” He swept her hair away from her neck, curling his fingers to rest at her jaw. Where he could tangle in her curls and feel the thrum of her heartbeat.

“Mmhmm,” she tilted her head, meeting his cool grey gaze, finding boldness there. “Had to make sure my face didn’t give away my improper thoughts.”

“At the _Ministry_?” He said, feigning incredulity.

“I quite like that large desk of yours.”

“Now you tell me.” When his lips met hers she savored it — the way her pulse quickened and her skin glowed warm. The little humming noise he made in his throat. She thought she could lose hours and days just like this. And perhaps she would.

Their foreheads touched and noses caressed when they pulled back, breathing in each other’s air in the early morning light. It would indeed be easy to forget the outside world but that wasn’t who Hermione was. She had a to do list, and she intended to see it through.

As if reading her mind, Draco said, “What are you planning to tell Niima?”

Hermione sipped her coffee and contemplated for a moment. Leaning into his touch because she could. “I think I’ll just say that we did more research and want to share it with her. Let her name the time and place. Sometimes it’s better to let Rey decide what she wants to do. Or at least, I’ve been learning that as the years go by.”

“Sounds familiar. In fact it sounds exactly like you.”

“I suppose we’re both pretty—”

“Stubborn?”

“I was going to say strong-willed,” she grumbled, cradling her mug with both hands. Slumping in her seat a little.

He pulled the cup from her hands and leaned down to kiss her again. “You know,” he said, “I happen to like stubborn and strong-willed.” Then he handed her coffee back to her and called for Selene.

The elegant owl swooped into the room and perched on the back of a dining chair, waiting. Hermione conjured some parchment and scribbled the note for Rey. Selene soared out the window and there was nothing left but to wait. It was a cool autumn morning, with the sun just barely risen. They took their coffee to the library, sharing the large chair by the fire that now blazed in the grate.

“What do you think about this riddle?” He asked. Long fingers drawing shapes on her knee.

“You mean the curse?”

“And the dyad. Do you reckon du Barry was right about forgiveness? Do we ever really forget?” His eyes flicked to the dark mark on his forearm. It had faded over the years, and she knew that without its Lord it didn’t contain the dark curse it once did. But it remained a stain in his skin. Immovable. A constant reminder for anyone who saw it.

“I’m not sure she meant to forget in the literal sense but that we all eventually move on from the past, once we’ve forgiven each other.”

“Each other? Isn’t it one person who needs to forgive another for harm caused?”

“I think its important to forgive ourselves for our mistakes of the past, whatever the reasons were at the time. Others can forgive you but you have to forgive yourself, too.” She ran her fingers over the tattoo, following the lines of the snake and skull. The sight of it in the sky had always brought fear with it. The unknown and the dangerous. But now it was just lines on skin.

“It takes a lot longer to forgive yourself,” he said, twisting his wrist to hold her hand in his.

“Maybe it isn’t an instant thing. Maybe we have to forgive a little every day, whatever we’re able.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the brightest witch of our age?” Draco said, grinning down at her.

“I think I’ve heard it before but I like the sound of it from you.”

They flipped through Zélie du Barry’s notebook, comparing thoughts and theories between lazy kisses. That is, until they were interrupted by the pecking of the owl at the window.

“I’ll get it,” Hermione said, but Draco moved her legs from his lap and let the bird into the room. Once again she flew straight for Hermione, who didn’t flinch as badly this time.

“What’s she have to say?”

Hermione scanned the note again. “She said everything is fine, come over whenever you like.” She frowned. “She didn’t mention anything about Solo.”

“Maybe you should go talk to Rey first and then we can get in touch with him. Don’t want to surprise her by inviting him,” Draco said. One of his hands gripped the back of the chair and he scanned the note over her shoulder.

“You’re probably right. We should go now, don’t you think?”

“We?”

“Yes, I thought that — do you not want to come?” She had stood from the chair and leaned against it with one knee. “Or you probably have things to do today—”

He reached for her hand and pulled her to stand in front of him, resting his hands at her hips. “I was thinking that the only thing I want to do today involves getting you out of my dressing gown.” As if to further his point he thumbed the tie around her waist, giving it a playful tug.

She looked down at the luxurious grey fabric and remembered that she hadn’t gotten dressed yet.

“But if you insist on wearing it out, I won’t stop you—“

Hermione shut him up her new favorite way how. She kissed his smart mouth.

* * *

The house was cold. But it was always cold. It settled deep in the bones of the bare walls and uneven floors. Rey climbed the main stairs to her room and flipped on the lights with the maple wand. When she’d followed Ben to his room she’d hoped to feel the hum of her own wand — to summon it wordlessly into her hand and hex him before he had a chance to react. But her wand wasn’t there. Nothing called to her from his suitcase or his pockets. It wouldn’t have worked, so she hadn’t even tried. She knew her wand and it knew her. Wherever he’d stored it, it was someplace beyond her reach.

When she was twelve, wandering in a stream at the end of the property, a grindylow latched onto her ankle. She hadn’t yet learnt _relashio_ in her classes but her wand reacted on its own, snapping purple sparks at the creature and sending it back into the shallows. It yielded to her magic with a practiced ease. Even when she was distracted or stressed, just the feel of the blackthorn wand comforted her enough to keep her head level. And now she had a head full of thoughts she didn’t know what to do with. Runes and curses and a dead grandfather in a glass coffin. Shattered dragons on stone floors. A scarred cheek. Strong hands and soft lips.

She peeled her clothes off and took a shower, letting the scalding water wash the day down the drain, into the ancient pipes of the ancient estate. When she was done she crept down to the kitchen and made a sandwich, barely tasting it while her mind darted around her thoughts like a snitch. She put half of it in the ice box and dragged her feet up to bed.

But sleep was evasive. After a few restless hours she considered poking around for a vial of dreamless sleep potion but she didn’t want to feel groggy the next day. Or, rather, in an hour when the sun came up. So instead she wandered through the halls. The living ghost of the House of Palpatine. The top floor, with its empty bedrooms and sitting rooms and bathrooms. Moth eaten and full of dust and doxies. The main floor, barely functional. The overgrown conservatory. The once grand library. Now shattered. She stepped into her grandfather’s study on quiet feet. The cabinet of wands was still open. Rey sighed.

 _Try them all_ , her father had said, _until one feels right._

 _But how will I know what feels right?_ Rey had asked.

_The wand chooses the wizard. According to Mr. Ollivander, at least._

_How did your wand choose you?_

Her father had frowned at her, spinning the ash wand between his fingers. They always shook, and as she grew older she knew it was from drink, not nerves. _Your grandfather gave it to me._

_But you said the wand is supposed to choose you. If he gave it to you, doesn’t that mean it wasn’t the right wand?_

_Perhaps not. Let’s try them together until we find the right ones._

They’d spent well over an hour swishing and flicking the different wands. Not real spells, just little movements to see how the wood and core would react. Her father had ended up with his original wand, which produced golden sparks. Rey had felt a certain humming from one dark wand, tucked in the corner. As if it were whispering her name. Coaxing her closer. When she had reached for it, it vibrated in her hand. Warming her from its powerful phoenix feather core. She’d squared her shoulder and flicked the wand upward, revealing cobalt sparks. Like the fireworks she’d seen over the Avon at New Year.

 _That’s the one_ , her father had said.

Now, faced with the same collection of wands, Rey hoped that one of them would suit her. It was seven galleons for a wand from Ollivander’s. She had the funds but it was the principle of the matter. Why should she buy a wand when there were over a dozen here? That money would be better spent on a new place to live. It was time to face her past so that she could step into her future.

So she reached out a hand and hovered it in front of the cabinet, closing her eyes and willing the air in the room to shift like it had when she was just eleven years old, only a few weeks before leaving for Hogwarts. _Choose me_ , she thought. Breathing in and out of her nose. Her mind showed her blackthorn wand soaring through the air, landing in Ben Solo’s hand. Over and over. Across the destroyed library. In between that memory was the flash of a crooked smile. The stroke of a thumb down her spine. The delicious pleasure she chased.

Rey opened her eyes and surveyed the wands. Ash, vine, holly, willow, hawthorn. Some were elegantly carved, with polished handles. Others were rougher, older. As if they were hewn quickly, a thousand years ago. She wondered what the different cores were. If there were any others with a phoenix feather, like hers. Perhaps that would help it feel more suited to her.

She reached out for a willow wand that seemed about the same length and gave it a wave. Nothing. Next, vine. A beautiful wand. Carefully made. It felt nice in her hand but it too, did nothing. Swish and flick, wave and twirl. Rey tried all of the wands in front of her. Some twice — testing different charms to see if one felt better than another. But they all felt easy. And she’d never liked easy. In the end she settled for a hawthorn wand. It had been amenable but with a bit of resistance that she’d liked. As if it, too, liked to put up a fight. Perhaps she could win its allegiance over time.

Rey was busy rounding up the charmed birds she’d created, dismissing them into a shower of starlight, when Maz knocked on the door.

“Rey, there’s someone here for you,” the old woman said.

“At this hour?” Rey asked. When she looked outside the sun had risen, and she could hear distant chirps and the rustling of leaves.

“How long have you been in here, child?”

She sighed. “I guess a lot longer than I thought. Did I wake you?”

“Oh, of course not. I wake with the finches. I’ll send some breakfast to the sitting room for you two,” Maz said.

“Thanks, Maz. I’ll clean this up and be right in.”

Hermione must have stayed up all night doing research and sending letters, Rey thought. She stretched her arms above her head and cricked her neck from side to side. The old muggle sweatshirt she wore to bed was frayed at the edge of the sleeves and fell to the hem of her shorts. Transfiguring them into something more presentable didn’t seem worth it. Hermione was most at home in a baggy old jumper, she wouldn’t mind.

She padded across the hall and into the sitting room, expecting to see a full head of curly hair eagerly waiting for her with a stack of books and smudged notes on parchment. Instead she stopped in the doorway when Ben Solo stood from his seat. And she felt it. It was here. He had her wand.

“What are you doing here?” She said at the same time as his awkward hello.

He cleared his throat and took a step towards her. “I—You left.”

It surprised her, but then again she was surprised to see him in her house to begin with. She didn’t think she’d see him again. “I did.”

Ben nodded and seemed to chew his cheek as he glanced around the room. Hands in his pockets.“I’ve been thinking a lot this morning. Woke up pretty early…” He trailed off, as if he wanted her to pick up his thoughts. When she didn’t he continued. “I walked around Diagon for a while but nothing was open.”

“It’s a Sunday, everyone was probably having a lie in.”

“Except for us,” he said, giving her half a smile, half a grimace. Then he took his hand out of his pocket. He held her wand in his palm. “I stopped by my family’s vault at Gringott’s for this.”

Rey sniffed and crossed her arms, dragging her eyes from it. “There’s no need to gloat further. If you think—”

“No, that’s not it. Last night, before…I tried some spells with it but it didn’t really cooperate.”

“Shame that stealing someone’s wand wouldn’t make it obey you.”

“Look, I know I reacted poorly—”

“Bloody understatement.”

“And I’m sorry. For fighting you and for taking your wand.”

She turned towards him. “I thought it _belonged_ to you.”

“Turns out I’m quite fond of mine,” he said, brushing his pocket with his free hand. Then he held the wand out to her. “This one’s yours. I mean it. I’m sorry I took it.”

She breached the last few steps until she stood before him. With a tentative hand she reached out for her wand, holding the smooth blackthorn wood between her fingers. It responded to her touch, thrumming with the magic in her veins. Like it was welcoming her home.

“Even before you came to the inn I kept thinking — all night I was thinking and again all morning. I know that you shouldn’t be blamed for his mistakes. What Sheev did all those years ago, that was his mistake, not yours.”

Rey twirled her wand and met his eyes. So much clearer than they were the day before.

“As a Skywalker, I believe that my grandfather would want me to let go of the past and forgive you. So that’s what I came here to — what I wanted to say. I forgive you, Rey. You’re not your ancestor’s mistakes. You should be free of that burden. I’m sorry for placing blame on you.”

A small flame burned in her chest, stretching outward towards her skin. Rey gasped. It tingled, not unpleasantly, and she held her hands in front of her to see if what she felt on the inside had manifested on the outside. If her skin had turned pink with heat.

“Is something wrong?” Ben asked, taking a few steps towards her. “Are you hurt?” He’d pulled his own wand out, drawing diagnostic spells and furrowing his brow at what he saw written in them.

“I—no, nothing’s wrong. It feels like something’s happening to me. I can’t explain it.”

Ben closed the gap between them and placed a warm hand on her arm. “Rey, and you alright?”

Her wand started to vibrate, pulling her hand until she could stretch it in front of her. “I wonder if…” She gave the wand a swish, just a simple charm, and the blue light from her wand clasped onto the red light from Ben’s diagnostics — the two spells meeting in the middle for a brief flash before snuffing out.

“That was strange,” Ben said, turning his wand over in his hand, looking for a change. “What did you feel?”

“It was like a shiver but…warm. Like I was lit from within. Like a spark.”

“Try another spell,” he said, his eyes eager.

After considering what to test — first, she thought of a bat-bogey hex, just for a little sweet revenge — Rey closed her eyes, thought of a happy memory, and cast a patronus. Just to show off a bit.

“Look,” Ben said, pointing towards it. The little desert fox trotted through the air around her. There, in its wake, were the faint outlines of runes. Her curse, written in the air. The runes shimmered for an instant and then disappeared. A glittery dust left behind until that too, was gone.

Her heart bolstered the patronus, making it brighter. Then Ben raised his wand and whispered, “ _Expecto Patronum._ ” A large bird soared through the room — its wingspan was great, and its beak was sharp. It looked like a falcon. Rey grinned as she watched the two glowing forms chase each other until they gradually faded.

“Let me just check,” Ben said, then he muttered his incantations, moving his wand in elegant arcs around her. But this time nothing happened. There were no more runes to pull from her. No more curses to be found. “Well then. Guess I at least won this one after all.”

Rey scoffed at the arrogance but continued to smile at him. “Fine, you can have this one.”

“How do you feel? Any different?”

“Mostly no,” she admitted, and it was the truth. In the few moments where she’d allowed herself to imagine a life without the curse, she’d thought that breaking it would be a big, momentous thing. That she would grow taller or more beautiful or more powerful or more _something_. That there would be unbearable pain. Or that she would feel euphoric. “I suppose I feel a little lighter now. Still me, just…Without that nagging feeling that I’m going to kill anyone I let too close to me. Standard feelings, really.”

Ben cleared his throat and put his wand away, then held out his hand. “I think maybe we got off on the wrong foot. Hi, I’m Ben. Solo,” he said, and she shook his hand, feeling the callouses from quick spellwork and flying on his fingers. “I’m a cursebreaker for MACUSA. I hate asparagus. I love muggle comic books. And I’d like to know you.”

“I’m Rey,” she replied. “Just Rey.”

He nodded. “You are.”

There was a tap at the window, disrupting them — the barn owl had returned with another note from Hermione. It wasn’t unusual for her to send an owl at odd hours. Rey read the letter quickly, smiling, then wrote a reply and sent it back. At some point during their conversation, breakfast had arrived on an old pewter tray on the low table in front of the sofa.

“Would you want to have some tea? Oh, there’s coffee too…”

“Coffee sounds great.”

She stepped around to sit and Ben sat at the other end of the navy couch. Maz sent a full pot of breakfast tea, a carafe of rich coffee, bowl of sugar, milk, pastries from their favorite bakery in town, and fresh fruit. Rey half expected a full English to pop up beside everything but there was no room left on the table. Maz never did anything by halves.

After about an hour of snacking and sipping their drinks, the conversation quickly turned back to quidditch.

“Yeah, my dad is a big fan. He wanted to go pro but with my mother’s career, he had to make some sacrifices. Follows all the professional divisions and plays in a few different fantasy leagues, thought.” Ben explained.

“Plays in a _what_?”

“It’s something that muggleborn wizards in America carried over from their own sports. A way to make a dream team and track stats. He’s pretty obsessed; drives my mom crazy. Especially if she catches him gambling.”

Rey didn’t quite understand it, but she thought that she’d like Ben’s dad. “Does he fly?”

Ben nodded. “He coaches at Ilvermorny and gets to ref the matches. Loves it. Keeps him out of trouble during the school year when Mom’s busy.”

“Do you see them much?” Rey asked. It sounded like the kind of family she’d been envious of as a girl. A brilliant mother. Charming father. The kind who had adventures.

“More than I used to. It took us a while to get back to whatever our version of normal is. I had a bit of a…rebellious period, I suppose you could say.”

Rey chuckled and cleared her plate. “We’ll have to compare notes sometime.”

They talked about their years at school and some of his more interesting cases. She told him about the latest improvements in house elf relations. It was easy to talk to him, and she found herself relaxing in a way that she hadn’t in a long time. They had just gotten into a particularly intense discussion about pewter cauldrons versus brass cauldrons when Rey felt the wards shift.

“They’re finally here,” she said, just as Hermione and Draco opened the front door and followed the hall to the sitting room.

“Rey, we have the—” Hermione stopped short and looked from Rey to Ben and back. They cut a casual figure on the sofa, cups of tea and coffee in hand. “Oh.”

“Didn’t expect to see you here, mate,” Draco added.

Ben chuckled and took another drink. “And yet here I am, with all my limbs.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing you are because we’ve corrected the translation and the only way to break the curse is if you—”

“Forgive her, yes, we’ve already been through that,” he said. “Nice work, though.”

Hermione stuttered. “What? You mean?”

“Yes,” Rey said, “I’m no longer beholden to an ancestral curse. Easy, really.”

“Easy?” Ben said. “Since when?”

Rey shrugged, and suppressed a laugh at the look Draco and Hermione exchanged.

“Oh. Are you sure?” Hermione asked. “How do you know it’s really broken?”

“Do you want to talk first?” Ben said, gesturing to Rey. “Or should I talk first?”

Draco arranged one of the chairs for Hermione, who perched on the edge of the cushion. Rey summoned more cups and poured tea for everyone as they settled. When neither of them reached for it she sighed, ready to begin.

“So Ben gave me my wand back and we had a chat—”

“Rey Niima can you be less vague, I beg you,” Hermione said, leg bouncing with anxiety.

“I forgave her for the sins of her grandfather and then when she was testing the wand again the runes sort of…leeched out,” Ben said. “And the curse was lifted.”

Rey scoffed. “You make it sound so inelegant! I did a simple charm while Ben did whatever he was doing, and something strange happened with our wands. For a moment they connected. Then I cast a patronus and my clever desert fox pulled the curse out. Ben did his little spell that says whether I’m cursed or not and I’m not anymore. Easy.”

“Little spell? You make it sound so inconsequential.” Ben said wryly.

They let Hermione ask her many questions and described, in detail, the events of the morning while she listened with wide eyes. Occasionally Draco provided his own thoughts and commentary.

“You’re really no longer cursed? Just like that?” Hermione asked, flicking her eyes between Ben and Rey once more.

“Just like that,” Rey said. She stood and stretched, still in her pajamas. “Though I suppose the first person I love will be the real test.”

Hermione got up from her seat and hugged her friend. Rey held her for an extra second. Letting the words she couldn’t find manifest in the embrace.

Draco laughed behind a hand. “Hopefully it won’t take Rey ten years to admit to having feelings for someone.”

“Interested parties should be a little more helpful with these things!” Hermione snapped, hands on her hips, hair a wild bramble.

“Ah, yes of course. They really should be,” he said, turning an eye towards Ben, who cleared his throat and said something under his breath that sounded like a threat.

Rey floated her tea to her hand and leaned against the arm of the couch while she talked with Hermione more about what, exactly, it felt like to have rune markings leave her body.

“Do you reckon you’ll be in the country much longer?” Draco asked Ben.

“I’m thinking about taking on some more cases. There’s a few things I want to see through— actually, I wanted to talk to you about a case I heard of in Dover,” Ben said, leading Draco to the other side of the room. The two started speaking in hushed tones, and Rey wondered what sort of gossip two cursebreakers could have. Whatever it was, she was glad to have a few moments alone with her friend.

“Listen, Hermione,” Rey tucked her hair behind her ear, nervously fidgeting while she tried to articulate her gratitude. “I know I haven’t always been…amenable to your suggestions about the curse.”

She laughed and nodded.

“But I wanted to thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Rey, I just did what any friend would do.”

“No, it’s not just that. You pushed me when I needed to be pushed. Made me start to deal with all of,” she gestured around them, “ _this_. My family. My legacy. My curse. You helped me break it, even if you weren’t here to see it. You believed in me and I’ll always be grateful for that.”

“You get to make your own legacy now. Be whoever you want, without a name to weigh you down. That’s got to mean more than anything.”

Rey smiled, thinking of her earlier exchange with Ben. She could just be Rey. “It does.” Her eyes wandered over to him, highlighted by the morning sun. And when he glanced up at her she didn’t avert her gaze.

“Perhaps now that your curse is broken you’ll fall in love with a tall, dark, and handsome wizard,” Hermione teased.

“One step at a time, for Merlin’s sake. He can buy me dinner first.”

“That’s a start, at least.”

They took a turn about the room, stopping by the window that overlooked the willow tree. It was Rey’s favorite view from the house. The way the trailing tendrils of leaves whispered to the ground. Swaying on the slightest breeze.

“Nice dress,” Rey said, keeping her voice low.

“Oh, thank you,” Hermione replied, tugging the hem. Pink blooming on her cheeks.

“You know, it looks _exactly_ like the one you were wearing yesterday only transfigured to be a different color,” she said just a little bit louder.

Hermione blushed deeper, and when Rey looked up at Draco he winked at her.

“Fill me in later, yeah?” Rey said, then she crossed to the center of the room to clean up the remnants of the breakfast table, sending the dishes back to the kitchen with a _pop_.

For a while they all talked and laughed together, lounging in the chairs and on the sofa. Picking at the remnants of the pastries. Comparing theories like a bunch of Ravenclaws, though none of them were from that house.

The midday sun streamed through the windows and Hermione and Draco announced a desire to walk around town and visit Shakespeare’s birthplace. Rey had been before, and Ben seemed to pick up on her subtle head tilt that she hoped said _let them go alone_ and claimed that he had, too. Go on without them.

“Can’t believe he didn’t bother going to Hogwarts. He would have made an excellent Slytherin,” Draco said. Rey agreed.

“William Shakespeare?” Hermione asked.

Draco helped her into her coat. “No, Prince Charles. Of course bloody Shakespeare. Most famous literary wizard of all time—“

“He was not a wizard, he was a muggle.”

“Incorrect, Granger.” He turned to Rey, “See you around the ministry, Niima. And see you Tuesday, Solo.”

“Parting is such sweet sorrow,” Rey mused, saying her goodbyes to Hermione.

Draco swept right back into his argument. “My ancestor wrote in his diary about a duel with a well-known playwright the same year that Shakespeare wrote _Hamlet_ —”

“That could have been anyone! And how do you know your ancestor was even trustworthy?”

“Because he was in Queen Elizabeth’s court and he quoted the play directly in his diary—”

They continued bickering down the hall, and just before they turned to the door, Draco placed a guiding hand at the small of Hermione’s back and she beamed at him.

“If you’d told me yesterday that they weren’t together I wouldn’t have believed you. The way they argue might as well be foreplay,” Ben said. Lips pulled into a grin and a chuckle. Dimples and all.

“And now that they are together, it will surprise no one,” Rey replied. “There’s probably a bet happening at the office.”

“Is there anything you have to do today?” Ben asked.

“Besides change out of my pajamas?”

Ben’s cheeks pinked, and she could just make out the tips of his ears, flushed amid the waves of his hair. “I meant, maybe we could take a walk. If you have the time.”

It was still early, and the sun this time of year was Rey’s favorite. The way the daylight hit the leaves, half-changed with autumn’s kiss. The slight chill to the air. And there was nothing more British than a walk.

“Sure, give me a minute,” she said, and with a turn she apparated to her bedroom. Rey grabbed an old jumper and some jeans and tugged on a pair of worn boots. The late night shower and rumpled sleep left her hair in waves, so she pulled half of it back and out of the way. She put on a jacket and returned to the sitting room.

Ben had sat on the sofa, with an ankle crossed over a knee, staring out the window at the grounds.

“It’s the only part of the estate I keep up with,” she said.

“Hmm?”

“The gardens. I can show you, if you like.”

He stood, his frame unfolding and stretching tall. Rather than wander through the ruinous part of the house, they left through the front door, and Rey led the way around the back of the house. Past the tumbled-down east wing.

“The conservatory used to be where most of the magical plants were kept but I’ve slowly brought things back to the wild where they grow a little bit better,” she explained, pointing to the overgrown corner of the house. It would be smart to contact the herbology department at the ministry to come and survey it — Rey wouldn’t be surprised if there was devil’s snare lurking in the corners. That would be a good first step to selling the estate.

They talked about all the magical and nonmagical plants and Rey explained some of the more obscure ones while Ben provided some insight into the various ways muggles used plants. Where their healing herbs overlapped with potions and brews.

Palace de Palpatine sat on a large acreage, protected by countless enchantments. It was easy to be lost to time when walking the grounds. It was the only part of the house that she wanted to show off. To talk about her love of potion making and harvesting ingredients. Blending her strengths from school and her love of green. They wound their way to the edge of the property and back, carried by light feet and dry humor.

“I noticed quite a lot of nightshade,” Ben said, leaning down to thumb the leaf of the plant.

“Yes, it loves it here. Practically a weed. I wonder if it likes the conditions of decaying houses of dead dark wizards?” She mused, leading them back around towards the trees near the front gate.

“Perhaps it thrives under the care of the right witch. Some things just need a little bit of a push to grow and change.”

The little black berries of the nightshade plant, with its emerald leaves, crawled over the fields. Nestled between the sweet white snowdrop flowers of Galathanus Nivalis and green dittany. Patches of clover and poisonous mushrooms. The deadly and the benign, living and growing together in the same soil. Encouraging each other to grow and change.

Rey wondered if she turned out to be half the witch she was because of the darkness in her family. If she needed the stain of their choices to make her own, better ones. To fight against what she was destined to be. To choose her own path and her own name.

The curse was broken. It didn’t feel real yet. She hadn’t given much thought about love, except to repress it. But now that the possibility was there, it sounded like a grand adventure. One full of its own battles. Where one could be a fool. Even if it took years to get there, it seemed like it might be worth the fight. And Rey had always been a fighter.

Ben had inched closer as they moved towards the end of the grounds. Or maybe gravity had pushed them so that their sleeves touched. They locked eyes beneath the willow tree. And when she felt his knuckles brush hers, she laced their fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The incredibly talented [Soupe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soupe/pseuds/Soupe) has once again created art that I have to share here after sobbing over it on Twitter.
> 
> Ben and Rey and the runes!
> 
> And our runic translators, Draco and Hermione.
> 
> I love them both so much. Onto the notes 🖤
> 
> * * *
> 
> Rey’s wand (formerly Anakin’s) is [blackthorn](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Blackthorn) with a [phoenix feather core](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Phoenix_feather), 13” long. I chose this combination for Rey because of the meanings. To summarize: the blackthorn bush is covered in thorns and produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts. Wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. The blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish. Phoenix feather cores are hard to win over. This is why, though Ben “wins” the wand back from Rey, it’s not loyal to him. She earned its true allegiance. 
> 
> If you, too, wish to spend too much time reading about wands I recommend the [HP Wiki](https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/) and the [Wizarding World](https://www.wizardingworld.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/wand-woods) site.
> 
> Ben’s patronus had to be a falcon, right? I couldn't not make that reference.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you for reading! This was planned to be a short, six chapter contained little story that took place over the course of a weekend and somehow each chapter grew longer and longer. I’m sad that it’s over but I cannot tell you how much I loved writing it and seeing all the responses to it! They say to write the story you want to read and this was my most self-indulgent version of that.
> 
> ✨ If you like a more soft (but still angsty) Reylo dynamic, check out [After Hours](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24013255/chapters/57771025): _Though she longs to be an artist, Rey Johnson spends her days doing odd jobs and her nights pouring beers at the Resistance. When an anonymous buyer purchases one of her paintings — and then another, and another — things quickly change for Rey. Soon she is swept into a glamorous and compromising world without a guidebook._
> 
> If you came for the Reylo but found yourself enjoying the Dramione… welcome! My current fic is called [Tremble & Depart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27903571/chapters/68329363). It’s a slowburn Dramione that takes place in, you guessed it, a spooky house. Mutual pining and mystery.
> 
> A T-rated Halloween Dramione one shot [Poison & Wine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27293806) inspired by the mega-talented [Inky_Pens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inky_Pens). The queen of angst and the queen of my heart. Check out her work, she's a stunning writer.
> 
> A divination, tea leaves, astrology-themed one shot with alternating present day Hermione and flashback Draco POVs. [The Moon in Gemini](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29478921).
> 
> And finally, an E-rated Dramione fic about grief and the healing power of piano called [Notes of Melancholy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27409507/chapters/66993583). Another prompt from Fran that took over all of my plans...
> 
> Find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/xDarkoftheMoon) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/xdarkofthemoon) for updates or just to say hi!
> 
> 🖤 Thank you for reading  
>  xx Lu


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